


Bite

by CaliforniaQueen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Armitage is Loyal af, Badass Rey, Ben is 19, Betrayal, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Bratty Rey (Star Wars), But NOT sexual blood and violence, Count of Monte Cristo but Victorian with Vampires, Debutante Rey, Don't Judge Me, F/M, Gritty but make it fashion, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Pirates, Poe Dameron Being a Little Shit, Rey is 17, Snoke is gross and uses human fat for things, Suicidal Thoughts, TRAYSURE, Tags Are Hard, Treasure Hunting, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Kylo Ren, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Vampires are called Mordu, Yall need to let me know if you need more tags cuz damn, because Vampires, just a heads up, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliforniaQueen/pseuds/CaliforniaQueen
Summary: Set in the backdrop of Victorian London, the Mordu are a race of feral vampires who are a threat to the nobles who are only interested in carrying on their family heritage. Lady Regina (Rey) Palpatine would like nothing more than to be part of the revered Hunters - the guard run by her grandfather. He would like nothing more than to see her married to Poe Dameron, the captain of the guard. But Rey has other ideas that involve a proposition by childhood friend and true love Benjamin Skywalker Solo. There is only one problem - he is the son of a servant and Lord Palpatine wants him out of the way.OrThe Victorian Vampire Count of Monte Cristo AU that I couldn't stop thinking about but nobody really asked for.
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 70
Kudos: 110





	1. Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to darling Psyclodelik for her help with bouncing ideas. This first chapter would be the length of a bible without her. ;)

1877 - London, England

Queen Charlotte’s Ball

Buckingham Palace

A thick, nearly impenetrable fog lay heavily on the grounds of Buckingham Palace on an unseasonably cool evening that spring. The gentleman stepped down from his coach and adjusted the hood of his cloak, careful to keep his face just out of the moonlight that managed to make its way through the heavy, watery mist. His blood-red signet ring glinted in the meager light as his aged hand gripped his polished rosewood walking stick, making his way to the captain of the Hunter patrol.

“Is everyone in place?” he growled, his voice mimicking the crunch of the gravel under their feet.

The captain nodded once, “Yes, sir. There are sentries surrounding the perimeter of the grounds. No Mordu will make it past my men this evening.”

“Good, good,” the gentleman rasped. “Protect the Queen and her guests. That is of the utmost priority.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what of the other matter,” the gentleman queried. The captain looked down, frowned, and returned his gaze to the shadowy figure. 

“The Solo boy will be taken care of, sir.”

“Excellent. You should make your way into the ball, captain. Your presence is required as per our agreement.”

The captain straightened his shoulders and nodded briskly, his jaw clenching in distaste. “At once, sir.” He turned on his heel and signaled one of his men. They exchanged a brief conversation, and the man took the captain’s post. The captain continued walking toward the entrance of the palace before he was stopped by the gentleman calling his name.

“Captain Dameron. Do remember to keep up your end of the agreement, hm?”

Poe Dameron turned his head slightly and nodded again, continuing on his path.

* * *

“Stand up straight, Lady Palpatine. Stop fidgeting!”

“Yes, Lady D’Acy.”

“When I agreed to sponsor your season, as a favor to your dear grandfather, I had no idea you would be so troublesome, child. It will be a wonder if you can manage to catch anyone’s eye at all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Here come the first guests. Stand tall. Shoulders back. Head up. Gentle smile.”

Lady Regina Palpatine, the granddaughter of Sheev Palpatine, the Earl of Canning, stood as tall as she was able and tried to appear relaxed, charming, and coquettish for her debut. Inside, however, she was just Rey Palpatine, a seventeen-year-old orphan being raised by her grandfather. 

She would much rather be training for her position with the elite squad of Mordu hunters than at court being presented to society as if she were to be auctioned off as livestock to the highest bidder. The business of parading girls about the palace to catch a husband was, in Rey’s opinion, as boorish as it was insulting. Yet here she stood, lavishly dressed in yards of crisp white taffeta with a ridiculously large bustle in the back, festooned with delicate lace, and roses made of the finest silk. Her hands were sweating heavily, encased in elbow-length satin gloves. She felt as if she were on display like a Christmas goose in a butcher’s window. 

The annual debutante ball had been held for as long as Rey could remember and for nearly a century before that. Named for Queen Charlotte, wife of King George III, it was originally held to celebrate its namesake's birthday but had evolved into a tradition of presenting the marriageable property of the nobility and well-born to the society of London. Rey had been thankful that her presentation before her majesty, Queen Victoria had been brief and uneventful. She groaned inwardly, knowing this was only the start of the ridiculous process. The following weeks would be a blur of balls, tea parties, and box seats at Ascot. Rey could only dream of being able to ride a racehorse rather than stand stiffly in corset and petticoats, blithely watching the horses as if it weren’t the most exciting thing she could ever hope to see. A delicate debutante Regina Palpatine was not. 

“Do you think there are hunters on a patrol around the palace this evening, my lady?” Rey asked enthusiastically, behind the silk of her fan. 

“Regina, talk of the Mordu and the Hunters is quite gauche in polite company. You would do well to remember that. But yes, I would assume there are patrols in place to protect polite society from those bloodthirsty heathens.” She shuddered with disgust at the idea. “Now, I suggest you put the foolishness of vampires and hunting out of your mind for the rest of the evening. It isn’t polite, my dear.”

Rey audibly sighed, forgetting herself and recovering too late to avoid the murderous glare of Lady D’Acy at her side. 

“Regina!” hissed Lady D’Acy. Rey snapped to attention. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” she whispered through clenched teeth. She shifted her weight from one side to another and glanced at the guests who had been pouring into the ballroom at a steady pace. That’s when she caught sight of someone she hadn’t been expecting. She lit up as she saw him and instinctively made an attempt to rush to greet him. 

“Ben!”

A firm hand gripped her elbow and held her in place. For a moment, Rey marveled at the strength of Lady D’Acy’s grip before the realization of what she was doing set in. 

“Regina Palpatine for the last time, remember yourself! You would embarrass your family and me and bring shame upon us all for throwing yourself at that boy? He shouldn’t even be here. What on earth does the son of a stable master think he is doing at a debutante ball? It’s disgusting.”

“He’s my best friend,” she said, hurt by the older woman’s disdain. “I only wanted to say hello.”

“The time for nursery friendships is long gone, my dear. You are being presented to make a good match for your family’s titles to endure, not to engage in flights of fancy with a low born Skywalker.”

Rey seethed at the insult. She and Ben had been inseparable since they were children. Ben’s father was the stable master for her grandfather’s estate and Ben had just always been around either helping his father with the horses, learning a new skill from one of the stewards, or joining her and their friend Poe for lessons. Rey couldn’t remember a time that she and Ben hadn’t gravitated towards each other. As they got older, and people began to notice their affection, steps had been taken to make interactions with each other increasingly difficult. They had been able to manage only stolen moments and secret rendezvous of late—each time finding it more painful to say goodbye. She longed to go to him now, knowing he felt the same. It would be as easy as breathing to accept him sweeping her off her feet and asking for her hand. It would be a dream come true. 

Those dreams were in danger of melting like a toffee candy since she had been told by her grandfather in no uncertain terms that she would never be allowed to marry a lowly Skywalker. And so she feared her dream of spending her life with Benjamin Skywalker Solo would remain locked away in her young heart. 

“My apologies, my lady,” Rey said, trying not to show her anger. She maintained her position by the dowager’s side and attempted to relax her posture. The tension and irritation radiating through her would do no good in receiving guests. She couldn’t take the chance to insult a potential suitor and bring the wrath of her grandfather down on them all. She met Ben’s eyes from across the room, the longing in his mirroring her own wants and desires. She hated all of this. The snobbery, the cruelty of the nobility towards commoners, and the treatment of the people who worked to serve so many families like Rey’s. It made her sick to her stomach that because of the rules of society, she and Ben were destined to be apart. 

“May I be excused, my lady? I need a bit of air.” Rey fanned herself dramatically, hoping to give the impression that she was in danger of swooning due to the heat of the ballroom. She swayed a bit to add to the charade, making Lady D’Acy react quickly. 

“My goodness child. Of course. Let’s get you out into the fresh air.” She ushered Rey towards the doorway, intending to accompany her out when Rey stopped her. 

“I will be fine on my own. I shall return in a moment.” She caught Ben’s eye and with a subtle movement of her head gestured out into the hallway. He gave an imperceptible nod and began to make his way to the door at the opposite end of the ballroom.

“Alright, my dear,” Lady D’Acy cooed. “I think I may sample a bit of punch after all,” she said and absentmindedly turned from Rey. Rey bolted out of the ballroom, down the hall, and into the empty dining room where she hid behind a curtain, fanning herself and trying to catch her breath. Her eyes began to adjust to the dimness of the room as she waited—the candelabras from the ballroom having no effect from the distance. She began to calm down, her breaths coming more evenly despite the restrictive undergarments she was forced to endure, when a hand came around her, covering her potential scream.

“Shhh!” came the loud whisper in her ear. “It’s me.” She sagged in his arms and turned on him.

“You nearly scared me to death. You should have made yourself known!” Rey hit him with the end of her closed fan in frustration.

“Well, what would be the fun in that? Then I wouldn’t have been able to put my arms around you,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her playfully. “My Lady Regina, you could rival the goddesses on Olympus with your beauty.” He bowed at the waist before reaching for her hand. Rey swatted him again with her fan.

“What do you know of goddesses and Olympus, Benjamin Solo?” Rey attempted haughty indifference, but she could feel herself blushing at Ben’s flattery.

“You forget, I’ve had the same tutors as you and Poe,” he teased. 

“Only by the grace of grandfather’s goodwill,” Rey shot back. She immediately regretted her jab as soon as she saw the look on Ben’s face. “Oh Ben, I’m sorry. I meant no harm. It was only in jest. Please forgive me.”

He smiled at her fondly and pinched her pink cheek. “It’s alright Rey. Don’t give it another thought. Speaking of Poe, he’s the one who lent me this costume. What do you think?” he spread his arms wide and turned around to show her his borrowed finery. 

“Very dashing,” Rey said. “I am so happy you are here. I never thought I would see you.”

“I had to come,” he said. “I had to see you like this. You are so beautiful, Rey.” His eyes raked down the front of her, taking in her gown, her hair piled high on her head, and a white feather placed in the curled mass. Rey basked under his attention, feeling, as she always did around Ben—as if she were the only woman in existence. 

“I couldn’t let Poe have all the fun,” he continued. “Rey it kills me that we have to hide and that I can’t be in there,” he pointed towards the ballroom, “with all the others who are vying for your attention. I can’t write my name on your dance card. I can’t claim you as mine in front of all those fools and show them all how much I love you.” He held her hands in his, bringing them to his lips to brush them over the satin of her gloves.

“Oh Ben,” she breathed. “What are we going to do? Grandfather says I have to find a suitable match and I know he’s trying to push me into making Poe my choice, but I just can’t. I don’t care about titles and duties and appearances. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it if I can’t have you. I’m tired of pretending that I don’t…” she paused then, before gaining the courage to state her feelings, “that I don’t love you too.” She threw her arms around him then, burying her face in his neck and breathing in his fresh, clean scent. 

“Shh,” Ben soothed her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, “Don’t cry, my darling girl. Everything will be set right. Here.” He pulled out his handkerchief and patted her cheeks before leaning in to kiss each cheek where he had ministered. “I have a plan. Do you want to hear it?”

“Of course I do,” Rey’s eyes shone with love and excitement.

“Meet me tomorrow at midnight in the churchyard. I have saved enough money for us to steal away and be married. Father has written to my Uncle and he has secured work and a small home for us. We can do this, Rey. If you will have me. Will you?” He looked at her hopefully. Rey stared in awe, a single tear spilling down her cheek. 

“You would give up any future here for me?” she said quietly.

He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture Rey had teased him about on more than one occasion. “Oh Ben, don’t.” She grabbed his arm and held tight. “You’ll go bald if you keep doing that. Answer me, my darling.”

“Rey, you know I would give up everything for you. Without you, I don’t have a future.” He reached out then, wiping the tear from her cheek. Rey could feel the pull to him like the moon pulled the tide. She leaned closer in the hopes he would finally kiss her when they heard a noise outside the room. Startled, they both looked towards the door and back to each other.

“You should be getting back, or D’Acy will miss you. Here I have something for you.” He pulled from his waistcoat pocket a golden chain. Attached was a locket with an S carved into its smooth surface. Rey opened it, finding a lock of hair inside and an inscription that read, “Fear nothing. For all is as He wills it.” 

“Oh Ben,” Rey whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“I will wear it always,” she said, looping it over her head and allowing the locket to rest in the warm recesses of her decolletage. “I’ll never take it off.”

“Until tomorrow night, then.” She nodded enthusiastically and Ben kissed her hand and touched her cheek. As he exited the darkened room, Rey heard him whisper, “I love you,” before he disappeared into the night.

“I know,” was her soft reply.

* * *

Rey reentered the ballroom and quickly sidled up to Lady D’Acy, trying to remain nonchalant while inside she was filled with nervous excitement. No longer needing to pretend to smile, she spent the remainder of the evening beaming at anyone who stopped to address her or her chaperone. 

She only faltered once when her childhood friend, Poe Dameron, Captain of the London Hunters, stopped to exchange words with Lady D’Acy and ask Rey to dance the waltz. Rey’s smile, though genuine, was not intended to offer the recipient anything other than a friendly greeting. She knew Poe was aware of it. Part of her felt sorry for him because she knew he would have preferred their situation to be different, but Rey had never felt anything more for Poe than what one might feel for a dear brother. 

“Lady Regina,” Poe said as he twirled her around on the dance floor. “May I say you look particularly lovely this evening?”

“No. Stop being ridiculous, Poe. And don’t call me Regina.” 

“Very well, Rey. You still look lovely,” he said, a softness in his eyes that made Rey uncomfortable. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at her like that. She ignored his comment and remained silent through the dance, avoiding eye contact and wishing it would all just be over quickly. 

“What is wrong Rey? Are you ill? Overheated perhaps? I hear the dining room is a fine place to cool off this evening.” He looked at her with a wicked expression and Rey bit her cheek to prevent her from laughing.

“You cad!” she shot back in a hushed voice. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I knew,” he said with a devilish grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ben told me this afternoon.” He continued to whirl her around to the three-quarter meter, his movements fluid after so many hours of lessons during his youth. “I am to assist you both in your escape tomorrow. I will come and fetch you at half-past eleven and we will make our way to the churchyard where he will be waiting for you.”

Rey squeezed the hand that was holding hers as she followed his lead. Her eyes shone bright with happiness. Anyone who watched the couple dancing could only whisper their assumptions that Lady Regina was enamored with Captain Poe Dameron from the way she shone with love and affection. London society would most assuredly approve of the match when the engagement was announced. Their whispers, however, would be slightly less approving if they knew that the love in her eyes was for the son of one of her grandfather’s servants. 

“Thank you so much for helping us, dearest Poe. You are the brother I never had and you will be in my heart forever.” The waltz came to an end and Rey was too blinded by her joy to see Poe wince at her statement of sisterly affection. 

“Your fidelity is a gift that I receive gladly, my lady. Until tomorrow.” He bowed and returned Rey to her place by her chaperone. Now that he had played his part, he had another appointment to keep in order to uphold his deal with the devil. 

There was a small part of him that would come to regret his part in all of it. They had all three been the best of childhood friends, after all. As for the present, the only feeling burning bright enough for Poe to name with complete certainty was envy. Why should the worthless son of a stable master have everything that should by right be his? All his life he had come second to Solo. Rey, their tutors, even Poe’s own father, held Ben Solo in higher esteem than his own son. Poe had been the youngest of the Hunters to make the captain of the guard, he was the son of a viscount and stood to inherit a fortune along with his father’s title. He was meant to have it all, including Rey and her inheritance, as his own. With all the good fortune thrust upon him by a chance of birth, Poe wasn’t meant to be envious of a stable boy. It infuriated him--filled him with a white-hot hatred that had flourished over the years as they had grown. As Rey had grown. She had become a beautiful, intelligent, spirited woman and Poe wanted her for himself. He wouldn’t let Ben have Rey. Even if it meant he had to lie, cheat, and kill to get her.


	2. Into the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok y’all, I’m fully aware this is silly B-movie nonsense, but suspend your disbelief and have fun 🤣

Ben sat in his bed that evening, gazing affectionately at the stack of notes and letters bound together with a green satin ribbon intricately looped into a bow. Every letter—delivered by a servant bribed with pennies to keep their secret—had been read and reread so many times Ben could almost recite them from memory. They had evolved from childish poems to genuine affection and were his most treasured possessions next to his love for Rey.

They were the last he had left to pack into his frayed and worn canvas sailor’s bag. He had already packed what little clothing he owned, along with all the money he had saved thus far, and was lying in his bed toying with the missives, waiting for sleep to come in spite of his nervous excitement at the next evening’s planned escape. He lifted the ribbon, untying it and drawing it up, rubbing its softness across his lips and inhaling the remnants of Rey’s fragrance that still clung to it after all this time. 

He could still remember the day, two years before. They were out watching his father tend to the horses, leaning over the fence to watch. Her chestnut hair was shining in the setting of the autumn sun, tied back with the emerald ribbon, and whipping around in the breeze. It seemed as if he couldn’t breathe just from looking at her, and he was overcome with the need to let her know in some way what he felt. He had spontaneously reached down to squeeze her gloved hand in a clandestine show of affection, the first of its kind thus far, and she had turned, her cheeks pink with the chill in the air and eyes sparkling with surprise and excitement. 

They had heard his father shout his name then. There was always work to be done. Ben had sighed in resignation, but Rey had pulled his hand encouraging him to run with her. They ran through the field as wild as children without a care in the world. Ben could still hear her laughter in his memory, ringing out as clear as a bell, as she lifted her dress up to run. 

“You’ll never catch me, Ben Solo!” she shouted, laughing as she leaped in a most unladylike manner over the hills and furrows in the grasses. He increased his speed then, reaching out to snatch her up and twirl her around as she shouted her protest.

“It seems I have proven you wrong, my lady,” he spoke in a low voice too close to her for propriety, although propriety had been tossed to the wind the moment Rey had exposed her ankles and shouted like a wild street urchin. Her hair had come loose, tumbling around her shoulders, the ribbon flying back in the breeze. Ben had managed to catch it and hold it just out of her reach as she squealed and jumped in a vain attempt to retrieve her adornment. 

“And this is the prize I claim for my victory,” he continued, pocketing the ribbon and enjoying the flush of her cheeks and the feel of her softness under his hands. She breathed as rapidly as he did, whether he did so from exertion or the strange feelings washing over him, he wasn’t sure. Rey had always just been his friend—his best friend next to Poe. Only then, things had begun to change, and the look in her eyes told him she didn’t object to whatever was happening. 

They stood staring at each other for what had seemed like an eternity, their breaths in sync, their hearts seeming to beat for each other before they once again heard his father call for him. Ben pushed her away from him gently and mumbled an apology before turning and trudging back to the stables, his hand reflexively clutching tightly around the ribbon in his jacket pocket. 

Ben re-lived that moment in his mind as he lay there on his bunk, the low-burning fire casting shadows on the walls of his tiny room. He knew that when he held her in his arms on that fateful afternoon that it was the moment he realized he loved Rey and would do anything for her. The next two years were a blur of happiness as recorded in the treasured words of his future wife’s affection—all tied up in green satin. 

He closed his eyes and let the firelight lull him into a secure peace as he thought of her lovely face. The way her lightly freckled nose would wrinkle when she was confused or frustrated. Her soft, pink lips that he had yet to sample, even though he had pressed his own to the delicate veins of her wrist many times over. Her soft, beautiful curls that he would wind around his finger as they sat next to each other, hidden in the woods under a tree or in one of the rooms of the manor house, much to the chagrin of their tutors. 

Ben still could not believe Rey had agreed to be his. The Lady Regina Palpatine, giving everything up for him—a worthless servant. He didn’t deserve her and he knew it. Nobody that Ben knew would ever be deserving of her goodness and light. Yet for some reason, Rey loved him. She had chosen him over Poe and the many suitors who would choose her. As he drifted to sleep Ben quietly said a prayer in thanks that in one short day she would be all his. She would fill his arms and his heart and they would be together forever. He would never leave her side. 

* * *

Ben was woken sometime later by a loud pounding on his door. He sat up, bewildered, rubbing the haze of sleep from his eyes as a group of men burst into his room, knives, and swords were drawn, and pistols pointed in his direction. He froze, not knowing what to do or even if he should move. 

“What is this?” He bellowed. “Who are you?”

To Ben’s dismay, his question was answered a moment later as he saw the captain of the Hunters’ guard, his childhood friend Poe Dameron, enter the dimly lit room. 

“Are you Benjamin Skywalker Solo?” Dameron queried, his face stony and unreadable. 

“Poe, what is this madness? You know who I am!”

Poe stared at Ben, his eyes only briefly registering an unidentifiable emotion as he stated in a booming voice, “Benjamin Skywalker Solo, you are under arrest in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.” To the guards, he ordered, “Seize him.”

“What?” Ben stammered as the guards drew closer. “What is my crime? Poe! What have I done to deserve this? What is my crime?”

Poe stepped forward, stopping inches from Ben’s face. His eyes were cold and calculating. He smirked and opened his mouth to speak when he noticed the letters that had tumbled haphazardly upon the bed—the green ribbon shining in the firelight. He stepped past Ben and picked up a letter. As he read, his face darkened with anger. He picked up the rest, crumpling them in his fist and walking to the fire. 

“Poe! Wait! Stop!” Ben shouted before he was silenced by one of the guards with a sick thud of a meaty fist to his jaw. He sagged, still gripped by his arms, watching in horror as Poe methodically threw each letter into the fire.

“Why?” Ben rasped, almost inaudible, but loud enough for Poe to hear.

“Conspiracy against Her Majesty, the Queen. You were seen plotting with a well known Mordu agent at Buckingham Palace this evening.”

“No. It’s a lie. I am innocent.”

“Were you or were you not at Buckingham Palace this evening?” Poe questioned, stepping closer, still clutching one last letter. He stopped when he noticed the ribbon lying on the bed and retrieved it, while Ben looked on in confusion.

“I...Poe you know I was. But you know why I was there.” He pleaded with his eyes, trying to understand what was happening and not wanting to bring Rey into this nightmarish affair.

“There. You admit to being at the palace. Conspiring against the queen.”

“No.”

“You know the sentence for treason, don’t you Ben?” Darkness flashed in his eyes then—one Ben had never seen in his friend. He could feel the cold tendrils of fear writhing around his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“Death,” he whispered.

“So it is,” Poe replied. “You do pay attention. You always were the favorite with the tutors, weren’t you Ben? But I am prepared to grant you mercy.” He spread his arms wide, a gesture of good faith. “Instead of execution, I offer you eternal life.”

Ben gasped with relief, fully expecting this to end swiftly, until Poe’s words fully registered. Ben saw that the determination on Poe’s face never wavered. He watched as the captain beckoned someone forward. Ben attempted to turn to see what was behind him when he heard the unmistakable snarl of a feral Mordu. He began to struggle maniacally, desperate to be free of the hands restraining him.

“No. NO!” He shouted. He fought like a wild man as the chained creature was brought closer, its pupils wide with madness, lips dry and cracked and tongue darting out between razor-sharp teeth in a frenzied desire for the adrenaline-tinged blood wildly beating through Ben's veins. 

“No!” Ben shouted again as one of the guards carefully began to free the Mordu from its bonds. “Why, Poe? Why?”

Poe placed the ribbon in his waistcoat pocket and looked at the letter he still held crumpled in his hand. 

“Because,” he spat, “I am the son of a viscount. And I am not supposed to want to _be_ you.” He shoved the tattered letter into the front of Ben’s shirt and whispered, “A memento to remember better days. Enjoy your long life, old friend.” Then he stalked out of the room, leaving the guards to hastily finish the task of unlocking their prisoner and backing away quickly as it leaped towards its prey.

With the silver collar and shackles that had kept the beast at bay removed, its power and strength were tenfold. It snatched Ben from the arms of his captors like a child grabbing a rag doll. Ben could taste the fear on his tongue, felt absolute helplessness and terror as he turned pleading eyes on the guards. They crouched in a defensive pose, the tools of the Hunter trade—silver daggers, garlic, holy water—at the ready should the situation get out of hand. 

The creature held him with the strength of ten men. There was a loud animalistic wail and Ben could feel his arms yanked roughly behind him, held fast in the creature’s grip. With the other hand, it gripped him by the neck and reared back before violently sinking its teeth into Ben's neck. He screamed in terror as he felt the teeth tear into his flesh, bursting his carotid artery with an audible pop.

The pain was overwhelming, and Ben gave in to despair as he felt the creature begin to draw his very essence out of him, sucking sloppily and mercilessly as rivulets of blood stained his shirtfront. He felt himself growing cold despite the warmth in the room—the creature draining him of his life and the will to live it.

His eyes began to flutter closed and he could see her there, his Rey. Like a ghostly apparition sent to guide him towards eternal peace. His senses were overwhelmed by her—the feel of her skin, her scent, the sound of her laughter. He thanked whatever God had sent her to him in his final moments to ease him towards death. 

“Rey,” he whispered thickly, his body growing weak as death crept closer towards him.

She began to cry then. Her tears falling hot and fast on his face. He could taste the salt of them, and although he was tormented by her grief, he also welcomed it. The rush of her tears increased, and as they fell on his lips he drank them down greedily as if they were the finest wine. Ben lapped at them, wanting more the more he took. He drank of her tears on and on for what seemed to be an immeasurable amount of time as she continued to weep. Wanting to comfort her, he reached out and felt his hands grip something cold and hard. 

His eyes flew open and he realized what was happening as his hands clutched the arm of the Mordu, his teeth buried deep in its skin, as he drank deeply from the gash at the monster’s wrist. In horror, he pushed it away, his scream rattling the walls around them.

The guards moved in on them both, immobilizing them with their silver chains and bonds, drugging them with the small doses of garlic until they were drowsy and pliable. His last thoughts as he was thrown into the carriage to take him to wherever they were going were of Rey. He collapsed in a heap on the damp wood, his clothes in bloody tatters, his hand clutching at his chest where her letter rested against his heart.

* * *

The next day dawned a gloomy grey as a light rain spattered the windows of Palpatine Manor. Rey awoke to the sound of her maid Kaydel Connix entering her room to open the curtains and stoke the fire that warmed Rey’s bed-chamber. She moved to the wardrobe and began to select the clothing Rey would wear, placing each piece on the foot of the bed as she went.

“Good morning, Connix. Where is my grandfather this morning?”

“Good morning, my lady. His lordship has already had his breakfast and left for his office. I am to tell you he insists you not go to the stables to ride today.”

Rey felt a brief moment of panic at the order. Rey was used to riding nearly every day, but if he had found out about their plans... 

“Why ever not?” she asked, her voice distinctly irritated at her plans being changed without warning.

“Due to the rain, my lady. His lordship does not want you unwell for when you receive callers today.”

Rey relaxed a bit at that before groaning in distaste. Callers. Suitors. The ridiculous business of pretending to consider the advances of boring old men who only wanted a broodmare and her money. She huffed.

“I see,” she said. What else?”

“You have a music lesson this afternoon, tea with Lady Holdo, and dinner with Captain Dameron and his lordship this evening.”

“Very well,” Rey said, throwing back her coverlet and sliding her feet into her slippers. “Let us begin then.”

Rey completed her toilette hurriedly, bathing only her face and arms in the rainwater poured into her porcelain basin. She drank her lemon water dutifully and cleaned her teeth, grimacing at the taste of the tooth powder before spitting it out into the basin. When finished, she stepped into her underdrawers and chemise and held tight to the post at the foot of her bed while Connix tightened the laces on Rey's corset in preparation for the dress she would wear for the day. It was a deep, rich, blue silk, buttoned up to a high collar. The shoulders were slashed with brown striped silk peeking out, tapering to long sleeves trimmed at the wrists in ivory lace. The center skirt panel that matched the fabric in shoulders and the striped bustle was decorated with an elaborate bow. It was modest and fashionable and complimented her gleaming hair, which was pinned up at the sides and cascaded down her back in ringlets carefully prepared by her lady’s maid. 

Satisfied with her appearance, Rey made her way downstairs to have her breakfast. As she prepared her plate and sat at the polished dining table, her mind wandered and she thought of what Ben was doing at that very moment. A soft smile played upon her lips at the thought of him and she dreamt about what her morning would be like when she next woke as Mrs. Benjamin Solo. Her belly fluttered with excitement and she found it difficult to sit still. She looked at the small jeweled watch that was pinned to her bodice and noted the time, disappointed that it was going by so slowly. 

Rey attempted to fill her day with needlework, reading, monitoring the servants’ housework, and completing her lessons. Everything seemed to drag slowly, and by the time she was to dress for dinner, Rey was a bundle of nervous anticipation. She had changed into a dinner dress of dove grey satin, with elbow-length sleeves and a bodice of cream and grey crisscrossed with grey ribbon and pearl buttons. She wore her hair up for dinner, the wild mass smoothed and pinned into undulating waves at the nape of her neck.

She made her way into a sitting room adjacent to the dining room to join her grandfather and Captain Dameron already waiting for her—their heads close in conspiratorial conversation. As Poe caught sight of her, he stopped talking and stood, followed closely by her grandfather. Both men bowed to her and Rey responded with a respectable curtsy, bidding good evening to the gentlemen.

“Grandfather, Captain,” she said, nodding at each in turn.

“Ahh, Regina,” Palpatine croaked, kissing her cheek and tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. “You look lovely, my dear.” He led her into the dining room, followed closely by Poe. They took their seats while the servants flitted about, serving a seven-course meal that Rey could only nibble at. She watched as the men greedily consumed everything from the cucumber soup, through the fish and game courses, the veal in a creamy mushroom sherry sauce, the vegetable course, and dessert of sugared gooseberries in cream with sponge cake. By the time the savory course of oysters with bacon and lemon was served, Rey felt as if she would faint from nerves. She excused herself from the table with the intention of returning to her room to rest before she needed to meet Ben when her grandfather stopped her.

“My dear, you didn’t happen to visit the stables today, did you?”

Rey froze. She just managed to keep her face a neutral mask as she responded.

“No, grandfather. Of course not. You specifically requested that I do not due to the weather. Is there a problem at the stables?” She tried to seem bored, rather than frightened, her insides churning with something she couldn’t name, worry creeping into her heart.

“It seems the stablemaster’s young boy Benjamin has gone missing. You haven’t heard from him, have you, child?” He narrowed his eyes at her and Rey swallowed thickly. She glanced quickly at Poe who shook his head quickly, encouraging her to maintain the charade.

“No. Why on earth would I have heard from the stable boy? I was busy all day. And now I shall retire to my rooms for the evening. Goodnight.” She curtsied, turned her back to them, and left the room, quickening her pace as soon as she was out of their sight, tearing up the stairs as the servants looked on in shock.

Missing. 

Ben was missing?

Poe had shook his head, so maybe it was nothing. Maybe Ben was in hiding, preparing to take her away. That had to be it. They couldn’t risk her grandfather suspecting. Still, something gnawed at her confidence and while she summoned Connix to help her out of her evening dress, she clutched the locket Ben had given her that she wore around her neck and silently prayed for his safety.

* * *

At half-past eleven Rey was waiting at the servants’ entrance, hiding in the shadows, her brown traveling costume covered by a black velvet cloak. In her hands she held a small carpetbag containing a few items of clothing, her letters from Ben, and her jewelry for them to sell. She had never had much use for it, and was happy she could bring something of her own into the marriage. She waited on pins and needles for Poe to arrive and when she finally saw him step into the moonlight, she bit her lip to keep from laughing in excitement. Her smile quickly faded, however, when she saw the look in his eyes.

Something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked, worry coating her words like a death shroud. 

“It’s Ben,” Poe said, his voice conveying sadness and sorrow. “He’s gone.”

“What?” she laughed, the sound completely devoid of humor. “What do you mean gone?”

“He wasn’t there, Rey. His father hasn’t seen him since last evening. It seems he’s...well...he left this for you.” He handed her a letter: _Lady Regina Palpatine_ written across the front. Rey grasped it with hands that shook and barely managed to open the envelope. She read the words to herself, tears welling in her eyes, spilling over to smudge the words so carefully and formally written.

_My Lady,_

_It is with great sorrow that I am writing to you this evening. I regret to inform you that I will not be able to accompany you as previously suggested. I fear I may have led you to believe that our acquaintance was more serious than it was. In truth, our friendship, as it were, was and heretofore will continue to be, simply that. A platonic friendship of youth that must be set aside for adult responsibilities. I heartily apologize for any inconvenience this misunderstanding may have caused you and ask that you find it in your heart to forgive my inappropriate conduct. I have taken the necessary arrangements to procure employment elsewhere so as not to cause you any pain or subject you to malicious gossip. I wish you the best. I remain,_

_Respectfully yours,_

_Benjamin Solo_

Rey stood rooted to the spot, shivering in the cold despite her heavy cloak and warm traveling clothes. Her eyes became fixed on a spot in the distance as her memories bombarded her. His fingers toying with her curls, breathlessly laughing in the corridors together as they managed to outrun the tutor again, his letters, so full of affection and love, his lips on her wrist in those stolen moments in the shadows. All of it, gone. She felt as if she were trying to put the rain back into the clouds as she grasped at the memories before they faded away. This wasn’t right. It was terribly, terribly wrong. Not Ben. Her Ben. He wouldn’t leave her this way. 

Pale with shock and grief, she turned to Poe who was watching her warily. She clutched at the locket around her neck as the letter drifted to the ground and she swayed towards Poe. She felt his arms around her while her world turned upside down and the only thought before the blackness was the whisper of the one thing that mattered the most. 

“Ben.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Twitter! @lil_red_hed 💋


	3. Kyrie Eleison

_My Dearest Rey_

_I woke this morning shrouded in darkness, moving through the morning like a blind man. I failed to understand how the world could be so empty and yet I was the only one to notice. And then I saw you and dawn broke across the sky, filling the heavens with light, banishing the demons, and blessing me with your warmth. You have captured my whole heart with your beauty and I have no quarrel. I give it freely. It is yours for as long as you want it._

_I give thanks to God that he allows me to look at your shining sunlight that signals the beginning of each of my waking days. The gift of you is like none that can be given by any man. You are a gift from the angels. I pray one day I will be worthy of your love and affection. You have mine to do with as you will. My heart will not beat until then._

_I remain yours always,_

_Ben_

* * *

Rey sat on a velvet upholstered chaise longue in her bedchamber clutching letters, one in both her hands. Her eyes scanned each page, rereading one in full before returning to read the other. Again and again, she did this until both were nearly committed to her memory. The more she read, the more she looked at the distinct script in each letter, the more convinced she became that something was amiss. 

She made a mournful sight in the dim light of her shuttered bedroom clothed in nothing but her night rail and a wrapper. Dark circles under her eyes conveyed a lack of sleep and her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders—brushing it was all she had allowed Connix to do before Rey sent her away. She wanted nothing of the daylight or anything it brought with it. No callers, suitors, or responsibilities—she had demanded to be left alone, even going so far as refusing an audience with her grandfather. She had no strength to face anyone without the threat of collapsing under the weight of her own sorrow. 

She turned her attention once again to the letter she had received the night before, informing her that everything she believed in was a lie. It had been the worst thing to ever happen to her. Her hope and happiness were reduced to rubble at her feet. The rejection, the pain, and the despair were enough to drag her down into the darkness and she woke in her own bed to the fearful voices of her grandfather, Connix, Poe, and the doctor tutting over her supine form. According to Connix, they were afraid she had been bitten when Poe had brought her into the house. Rey vaguely recalled her grandfather ordering Poe to double the number of guards around the grounds because he was sure the nefarious mordu had come to lure her out into their murderous clutches. Rey rolled her eyes remembering his crowing about ladies being unaccompanied at night and how dangerous the city had become. She let him believe what he wanted; it kept her from having to explain why she was wearing her traveling clothes and carrying a bag full of very expensive jewelry. The longer she could go without having to allude to her plans with Ben, the better. Until then, she was thankful that Poe was serving as a useful distraction so Rey could try to make sense of what was happening. 

At long last, exhausted, throat hoarse from sobbing through the night, eyes red-rimmed, she had pulled all her correspondence from Ben out of her bag, fully intending to throw them into the fire until she happened to notice something unusual. Slowly, she had laid out her keepsakes, one by one, on her bed, and inspected them as if she were a detective in one of the penny dreadfuls she would steal from her grandfather’s desk when she wanted a thrill. By the time she had poured over the words that tore at her heart for what seemed like the thousandth time, she collapsed onto the chaise, confused and worried. She continued to sit and stared blankly at the letters clutched into her hand until she had no choice but to accept that her treasured words from Ben and the final heartbreaking note were absolutely not written by the same person. 

* * *

“Poe, you aren’t listening to me. Just look. Look at both of them!” Rey held the letters in front of Poe’s face in a vain attempt to force him to see what she had discovered. The more he resisted, the more frustrated she became, until she did the unthinkable, raised her voice, and cursed out loud. “Damn it to hell, Poe Dameron, you listen to me!”

Rey would swear that under the shock there was a hint of irritation that passed over Poe’s face before he looked at her sympathetically. “All right, Rey. Let me have them. I’ll talk it over with some of the guard and see what they think.” He took the letters from her shaking hands, folded them, and placed them inside his jacket. 

Rey shook her head in confusion as she watched. “The guard? The Hunters? No. Poe, we need to go to Scotland Yard. There needs to be an investigation. Something terrible has happened to Ben. I know it. I can feel it. Perhaps he was taken in an attempt to…”

“An attempt to what, Rey?” Poe snapped. “Ben is a nobody. Certainly not worth the time and effort to garner a ransom or begin an investigation. He’s a stablehand.” Poe huffed a laugh at what he considered a ridiculous idea.

Rage rolled through her like wildfire and Rey shouted, “How could you say that? He is your best friend. Poe, he means everything to me.” A sob escaped her and she covered her mouth, turning away and repeating in a whisper, “How could you say that?”

“Rey,” he said, coming closer to hand her his handkerchief. “I care about Ben. I do. But we need to be realistic. I don't say this to injure you, but perhaps you need to accept that he truly did leave.”

Rey turned on him, eyes flashing fire. “Until I have proof that isn't a blatant forgery, then I will never accept that Ben would do this to me. Never.” She stalked out of the room, head held high, the swishing of her skirts punctuating her departure. 

“She’s more intelligent than you give her credit for, my lord,” Poe said to the man who had been hiding in the shadows.

“It would appear so, Captain,” Palpatine rasped as he stepped further into the room. His walking stick made a muffled thump on the lush Persian carpet with each step he took. “It would seem we need to take more drastic measures to ensure my granddaughter gives up on the ridiculous notion that she will ever see the Solo boy again. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

“Good. Excellent. Then we shall move forward with the next part of the plan. I think waiting a few days would suit. Make it more believable. For now, let her think there is a chance that you have gone to her aid. It will make it much easier for her to turn to you in her grief. And then you will have my granddaughter, and I will have your fortune and we will all get our happy ending.” He finished with a laugh and turned to leave as if he had not a care in the world. Poe stared at his retreating form in disgust and sat down to carefully pen his next letter. 

* * *

Weeks later, Rey still had no word on Ben’s whereabouts. She would ask Poe every time he came to call. He only apologized and said that he had no word yet, but would continue to search. Rey began to notice that his visits had become more frequent, involving rides in carriages that she reluctantly agreed to, walks in the park that she didn’t have the heart to enjoy, and dinners with her grandfather that one evening, ended with he and Poe locked in the study after dessert. Rey gave it no thought until Poe left, smiling broadly, and her grandfather called her to join him. 

“Congratulations, Regina!”

Rey eyes her grandfather suspiciously. “You must enlighten me, my lord. To what do I owe these congratulations?”

“Why, Captain Dameron has asked for your hand in marriage, my child. I have consented and encourage you to do the same.”

Rey could feel her stomach tighten, anxiety and adrenaline flooding her system. “I don’t understand, grandfather. What do you mean Poe has asked for my hand? Is this in jest? Pardon me if I am not amused.”

“It is no jest, my dear. Captain Dameron _has_ asked to marry you and I believe it to be an advantageous match.”

“A good business transaction you mean.”

“That tone is unbecoming, child. You would do well to remember your place.”

“I do not love him, nor do I want to be tied to him forever. I…”

Palpatine let out a long-suffering sigh, taking Rey by surprise. “I know you were fond of the Solo boy, my dear, but it is time to let him go.”

Rey was momentarily silenced. Her voice came out less determined than before and she eyed her grandfather warily. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean. Ben is...”

“Come, Regina. Let us not play the fools. I am too old for games. I am aware of your feelings toward the boy and that you had planned to accompany him on an ill-advised journey the evening after your debut.”

Shocked, Rey attempted to deny everything, but he only raised his hand and shook his head, deterring her from speaking on it any further.

“Regina. I cannot allow you to make choices that will reflect poorly on our family name. Attaching yourself to a stable boy is...well, I don’t believe I need to say it. It is impossible anyway, considering what has happened.”

“What do you mean? What has happened?”

Rey registered the pitying look he gave her as he handed her the letter addressed to him in shaky, almost childish writing. She unfolded it and began to read.

_My Lord,_

_I am writing to thank you for attempting to search for the whereabouts of my son, Benjamin. However, I regret to inform you that as of this morning I have learned that Benjamin had booked passage on a ship and had taken ill during the voyage. He entered into eternal rest three days later and was buried at sea. I ask that you pass this information to your granddaughter, as I know they enjoyed each other's company as children._

_Respectfully,_

_H. Solo_

The letter fluttered to the floor quietly, landing without a sound. All Rey could hear was the pounding of her own heart as it slowed to a near stop before it broke completely.

For months after, she had no memory of how she had ended up in her bedchamber. She only assumed she had run or had fainted again and been carried. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered anymore. 

She spent days, or minutes, or years alternating between screaming into her pillow, crying mournfully, tearing at her clothing, and refusing food or drink no matter how much Connix wheedled and cajoled. When Rey finally gathered the strength to allow Connix to bathe and dress her and force a few bites of food into her, she began to feel a bit stronger. Despair eventually gave way to resignation and she made herself descend the stairs and enter her grandfather’s study. She had made her decision. 

“I will agree to this ridiculous agreement,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “But you need to hear me out. Do not expect me to be the blushing bride since I do not want to be part of this at all. I will not pretend, with you, or Poe. But with Ben gone...”—she faltered and choked back a sob, steeling herself for what needed to be said—“there’s nothing left for me anymore. I know what you want, grandfather. It’s what you’ve always wanted. More money, land, and power. I’d be a fool not to realize that I am only property to bargain with. Therefore, I will accept Poe’s hand on one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he asked, templing his hands together and resting his elbows on his desk.

“I want to train as a Hunter. Now more than ever.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. I know you never forgave father for marrying a commoner who could not line your pockets with more silver and gold. I am also aware that you seek to not make the same mistake twice.”

Palpatine stood and walked around the desk, moving closer to Rey and resting heavily on his walking stick. “How dare you say such things to me!”

“I do dare! If I am to be used for your financial gain, then I will have some say in the matter. You will never get Poe’s money or any man’s without me. I may as well get something out of the bargain.”

He stared at her for a very long time before smiling at her slowly and narrowing his eyes like a serpent. “Your anger is almost tangible, Regina. Your fiery convictions remind me of myself in my youth. It seems the Palpatine blood does flow hot through your veins.” He paused again to look her over before continuing. “Very well. You may have your adventures with the Hunters. And when your engagement ends and you are married, you will focus on being the dutiful wife of the future Viscount.”

“We shall see,” Rey replied, chin held high, leaving the room just as her grandfather erupted into low, wicked laughter. 

The very next day, Poe arrived early to call on Rey, only to be met by a footman who handed him a note.

_She has agreed. The guard is assembled. Introduce her to them._

_P_

Poe was pleased and yet confused. Why would he be introducing her to the guard? His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Rey walking down the stairs, clothed in a dark green gown embroidered along the seams and over the high-necked, buttoned bodice in white flowers. The long sleeves ended in white lace cuffs and her bustle was topped with a large bow. In her hand, she carried white gloves while a small top hat was perched on top of her shining mass of curls. Poe beamed at her as she descended the last step and came to stand next to him.

“Good morning, Captain,” she said in a formal voice that should have bothered Poe if he had been paying attention. Instead, he eagerly took her hand and bent a knee in front of her.

“My lady. I have asked your grandfather for your hand and he has consented. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Rey stared down at Poe until he began to fidget. This was it—her last moment of freedom.

"Very well,” she said, turning her face away from him as he clasped her hands and stood, attempting to steal a kiss. Poe only looked confused at her behavior, but Rey continued. “However, I must insist on a traditional two-year engagement. That will give me time to train properly.”

“Train. I don’t understand. Train for what?”

“I am to train as a member of the Hunters. You are not the only one who has discussed _my_ future with my grandfather.”

Rey would have laughed at the look on Poe’s face if it had been any other situation. Instead, she held her tongue and let Poe bluster as she assumed he would. 

“You will not train properly in anything but becoming my wife. I will not have you making a fool out of yourself or my family name.”

“You are mistaken. I will do as I must Poe because grandfather wishes it. But I will be your wife in name only. You will have no power over me.”

He changed his approach then, attempting to soothe her. “Rey. You know I love you. I’ve always loved you. How can you say these things? Will you not even give me a chance?”

“I’m sorry, Poe. Truly I am. But you have to know it will always be Ben. In this life and the next. There will never be anyone else. I’m so sorry, but it’s the only way.”

Poe’s face flushed red at the mention of Ben’s name. “It _isn’t_ the only way. You can be my wife and be happy.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said sadly, shaking her head as if she were talking to a petulant child. “Marriage is nothing but a contract between two men. An exchange of property for coin. Happiness does not enter into the transaction.” A haunted expression passed over her face. “Any happiness I may have had has gone. I have nothing left in me to give to you, Poe. If you want me as a wife, these are my terms.”

He sneered at her then. “Your terms? You? A mere woman. What gives you the right to think you have any choice in the matter?”

“Be careful, Poe. You don’t want to underestimate me. You have my answer and may do with it as you wish. Now I do believe you were escorting me to meet the soldiers.” 

She pulled on her gloves, taking care to keep her sleeve close to her wrist to hide the jeweled dagger concealed within. Poe swallowed and offered her his arm, leading her to the courtyard where the guard was lined up, ready for inspection. Poe made his introduction, chagrined at having to inform his men that Rey would soon be joining their ranks, and Rey broke into a sweat when she heard “The Future Viscountess Dameron” said out loud. He then led her past the line of shocked soldiers who tipped their hats politely to her, only to whisper to each other as she passed them by.

“This is ridiculous. A wee girl thinking she can train to hunt.” 

“It’s a disgrace.” 

“Disgusting.” 

“Someone should teach her a lesson.”

At that last comment, Rey lost her temper and pounced. Faster than any of them could think possible for a woman to move she whirled around until she was facing the loquacious soldier. The dagger that had been carefully concealed in her sleeve was now gripped by the silver hilt, the steel blade pressed to the soldier’s throat.

“If you have made your peace with God,” she hissed, “Then I encourage you to try to teach me your lesson. But know this,” she pressed the dagger ever so slowly into the flesh just under his chin, the tiniest droplet of blood glistening on her blade, “I have a taste for vengeance and nothing left to lose.”

“M-my apologies, my lady,” the soldier stammered, watching bug-eyed as Rey sheathed her dagger once more and continued strolling past the guard.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Poe asked her, his face a study in disbelief. 

“Does it matter?” she retorted, not expecting a response in return. 

Rey refused to bring to mind the memories of sharing her dreams with Ben—him teaching her to fight, believing in her ability to be more than just what the world would have her be. He had never wanted to hold her back from anything. He would praise her every time she had an advantage over him. Every time she bested him, his pride in her would warm her heart and he would encourage her to try again, increasing his intensity. He made her better. It was the one thing, besides the locket and her letters, that she had left of him—his belief in her. That would remain hers and hers alone. The pain of it all was excruciating. 

To the rest of the men gathered she said, “Know that I _will_ become a Hunter with or without any of your approval. I am here because I wish it, and because Lord Palpatine allows it.” Poe bristled at her deliberate exclusion of the wishes of her future husband. “Therefore I expect to be treated as an equal here, or by God, you will suffer the consequences. Do not for one moment think I fear any of you any more than I fear a mordu or even death.” 

Rey made her exit then, not bothering to take her leave of Poe, only angering him further. The men turned surprised eyes on him, waiting for their orders. 

“Dismissed,”’ he spat. His barely contained fury was visible in his tightly clenched fists.

“Captain?” questioned one of the more courageous of his men. 

“I. Said. Dismissed.”

The men quietly dispersed and Poe turned toward the house that would one day be his. It was little comfort after her display. This was not what he had negotiated with Palpatine. His anger festered inside as he pushed it down, thinking of what Rey had said. Marriage as an exchange of property for coin. It was true enough. And when she became his property, she would find that she had underestimated _him_. It was only a matter of time, really. Two years. A small amount in the course of his lifetime. He only needed to wait a little longer. 

He was good at waiting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I encourage you all to look up some Victorian love letters. Cuz, damn. Show them to your SO. We all need to step up our romance game. ;)


	4. From the Grave to Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Clo
> 
> CW: trigger for suicidal ideation after the second line break. At the dialogue that begins "I cannot do this for eternity, priest..." It is short, but I wanted to give you all a heads up.

Ben woke to the fetid scent of bodies and decay mixed with the tang of the salty sea air settling at the lowest point of the darkened room. He had no idea where in the world he was, but from the rolling motion and the rhythmic creaking of the wood surrounding him, he was certain he was somewhere in a ship at sea. The groans and retching of his fellow passengers and the constant displacing of limbs led Ben to understand that they were in the throes of a storm or a rough patch of the sea at the very least. It was surprising to him that he felt no malaise. No roiling gut from lack of food or sickness—rather, he felt a surge of energy, a heightened sense of smell and sight, and an absolute desire to remove himself from the room. He lurched forward as the ship hit a particularly large wave and caught himself, intending to continue the forward motion only to find that he was restrained by shackles surrounding his wrists and a thick metal cuff around his neck. He pulled and grunted, knowing his body was stronger in its current state, attempting to wrench himself free from the ship’s walls only to immediately find himself exhausted at the effort. 

“It’s no use, friend,” came a low voice from the darkness. Ben peered into the dimly lit corner of the room and saw a man in the military garb of a Mordu hunter working away at something with what appeared to be a knife. The enemy, that is what he was to Ben now, curled his lip into a sneer and gestured with the weapon, the blade glinting faintly in the meager light. “Those restraints are shot through with silver. They’re meant to incapacitate the likes of you,” He choked out a condescending laugh, spit in Ben’s general direction, and went back to his activity.

“Why bother with any of it?” Ben snapped. His frustration at being tied down like an animal and falsely imprisoned manifested into a low hum of rage. He could feel it burning through him like wildfire. “Why not kill me and be done with it? Where are you taking me?”

“Exegol,” was the simple, yet smug, reply.

Ben felt a frisson of fear trace his spine as if the cold, bony finger of death were examining its wares.

“Exegol?” he croaked, hoping beyond hope he had heard wrong. The guard snorted in condescension, choosing to remain silent, returning to the task at hand. Upon closer inspection, Ben realized he was fashioning a wooden stake, a hungry gleam in his eyes. Ben sat back, leaning his head into the wall of the ship behind him. He closed his eyes and pondered what the guard had said.

Exegol. The fabled oubliette of the sea—the prison that was more than a prison, where men were placed when they needed to be forgotten. The only place those men truly feared. No one who had ever seen the stone fortress, aside from the few who transported the sinners to their final destination and the depraved who maintained its secrets, had ever returned from its fortifications. Exegol was not a place to await trial. Exegol was a place to die. 

Its ancient walls defied the laws of time, the stones set securely upon each other unaffected by the punishment of the salty air, the cliffs impervious to the thrashing of the waves. The clouds in the sky threatening rain intensified the aura of danger and loss and as the ship grew closer to the worn, makeshift harbor and the looming, grey edifice gave no welcome to its guests. There were no grasses or trees to be found on the island, or even a ray of light to offset the dismal colorless veil cast over Ben’s future by this palace of despair. He grimly thought of the last conversation he had with Rey, of their mention of gods and goddesses, and he fancied himself already dead, ferried along the river Styx by a cast of Charons and awaiting his fate in this fortress of Hades. 

His mind went back to Rey and he remembered the letter that Poe had shoved down his shirtfront before ordering Ben to be changed into this cursed being, damned to eternity. He lifted his hands to pat the filthy, torn garment to see if he still possessed the treasure. His arms grew weary with the simple effort—the silver restraints’ effect was exhausting. He sighed with relief as he felt the rough scrape of the crumpled paper against his skin, a hair shirt he wore for his sins of believing he could have her. He was being punished for loving her, he knew that now. Poe’s jealousy and anger had been simmering for years and led to this moment, to Ben being sentenced to an eternity of torment for the simple act of being in love with someone else’s obsession. 

He felt his hands yanked in front of him then, connected to the prisoner in front of him, as they were led off the ship and towards the entrance of the fortress. Ben blocked out the sounds of the chains rattling around him, the men and their groans, some of them trying hard to hide their weeping, others not caring who heard and crying out their innocence to anyone who would hear. He closed his mind off to them and let his mind wander back to Rey. Her hazel green eyes and her hair falling in soft waves to frame her face. He remembered lifting her curls to his lips and marveling how soft they were, how fragrant. He felt the memory as if she were right in front of him, her smile dimpling her cheeks, just for him. Another harsh yank brought him out of his memory.

“Move, filthy garbage,” the guard barked at the men, some in rags, others wearing the clothing of gentlemen. Ben could only wonder what sin had brought them to this destination. What had these unfortunate men witnessed that necessitated they be locked away, forgotten to the world? 

When the group had arrived at the makeshift intake, they were detached from each other and dragged, either resignedly or kicking and screaming with whatever strength they still retained. Ben watched as one by one, the men were tossed unceremoniously into cells, the heavy wooden doors bolted securely behind them. When no man was left in the corridors save the ruthless guards, they dragged Ben past what seemed like endless rows of doors holding back tortured moans and the ramblings of those whose minds had wrapped a cloak of insanity around themselves to protect whatever spark of hope might remain. Ben listened and committed it all to memory in his mind, to fuel the rage and disgust he felt and determination he had of finding a way off this island, across the sea and back to Rey. 

He found himself hauled into a dim room, lit only by the meager moonlight from a window nearly 10 feet above the ground. He could make out simple wooden furniture: chairs, a desk, and a shabby, threadbare rug old enough to see the stone floor through the worn material. An office, Ben surmised, perhaps the very office of the warden. He wondered why the others had been locked away without preamble and yet he had been brought to an office. A guard shoved him roughly into one of the waiting chairs and backed towards the door, a weapon pointed at Ben should he get it into his mind to attempt escape. 

With the telltale sound of a match strike and flame set to a candle on the desk, the small office was bathed in soft light and shadows danced along the stone walls like the specters of former prisoners in a mummer’s dance to celebrate the new arrivals.

The smell of the fat, greasy tallow candle made Ben wrinkle his nose, causing the man seated behind the desk to chuckle darkly. 

“Yes, my boy, I have heard that the senses are heightened immensely after the change. My apologies for the odor. You see, we have become accustomed to the simpler things here at Exegol. We have our candles made by the wives of our guards.” He gestured to the men behind Ben. “Of course, we haven’t always the animals to spare for such luxuries. In those instances, we are always fortunate to have a dead prisoner or two to supply us with the necessary ingredients.”

The man spoke so nonchalantly about using human fat to create candles that if Ben had still had any human physical tendencies, he would have retched at the thought. Instead, he sat still, jaw clenched, and face void of any expression. He took in the sight of the man seated before him and wondered again why he was brought here. 

“I expect you have questions about our meeting,” the man oozed. His voice was like molasses, syrupy without any sweetness. Ben’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he sat and faced this man, cataloging his features and committing them to memory. The man was older than Ben, by many years it would seem. Everything about him was an attempt to look younger than he was. His hair, which was painfully thin on top and showed his withered scalp, fell limply and bedraggled about his head in grimy yellowed waves, coming loose from the queue in back. It looked as if he hadn’t been bothered to run a comb through it in weeks. His face looked less cared for—wrinkled and papery with age, a jagged scar bisecting his visage and causing his lower lip to protrude along one side. He wore a golden brocade vest buttoned up over a crisp white shirt and collar. It was the dress of a man trying too hard to look more well-born than he was. His demeanor was that of someone who wanted everyone to believe he was powerful. Ben thought he looked like a fool. 

The man sneered at Ben’s silence, taking it as a personal insult, rather than simple curiosity. “I am Monsieur Snoke, warden here at Exegol,” he growled, clearly not expecting Ben’s apathy. “And you, my boy, have been brought to me because you are special.”

Ben raised an eyebrow at Snoke, his mask of disinterest slipping for a brief moment. He did not for one moment believe that _special_ meant what Snoke was attempting to convey. At Ben’s reaction, Snoke smirked, satisfied with the response. 

“Yes. Yes,” Snoke purred, “special. For you are Mordu, aren’t you, my boy?”

Anger, bitter and righteous, flooded his veins and he pushed back the uncomfortable feeling of self-disgust he felt having to acknowledge this thing he had become. 

“Answer me, Benjamin,” Smoke hissed. 

Gritting his teeth, Ben snapped, “I am.”

“Wonderful,” replied Snoke. “The Mordu we have here is getting old and we could use someone new to take over when we tire of him.” Snoke’s eyes glinted maliciously in the firelight. “And of course, having two of you will help control the population. We seem to be overrun nowadays, what with all the new shipments regularly arriving on our shores.”

Ben furrowed his brow in confusion. “I do not understand what you mean,” he admitted. Control what population? 

“My dear boy,” Snoke crooned, nearly making Ben shudder with revulsion. “You are to be our executioner.”

The announcement hit Ben in the chest like a lead shot. He was being pulled down by the weight of the emotions battling for dominance in his mind. Horror, fear, despair, disgust, all that and more rippled through him and led him to his next question, choked out in almost childlike terror. 

“What do you mean, executioner?”

“As I said, we have become overpopulated recently, and it becomes necessary to rid ourselves of the problem. We are only allotted so much from her majesty’s coffers to run this prison and, sadly, we can’t always afford the amounts of food required to keep our guests alive.”

The way he said _guests_ filled Ben with fury. He was beginning to grasp what Snoke was implying. 

“You want me to kill,” he stated. 

“Precisely.”

“And if I refuse?” Ben asked, trying to keep his voice calm. 

Snoke laughed cruelly. “My foolish boy. You will do as ordered.”

“Or what? You’ll kill _me_?” Ben could think of nothing more welcome at this point. He could not bear the thought of taking a human life. Not in any way, but certainly not like this. He could not stoop to the level of a mere animal just to keep himself alive. He wouldn’t.

“Ah, such spirit,” Snoke jeered. “Such a noble heart he has. Tell me, Benjamin, since you were turned so recently, have you slaked your thirst? Fed on a human?”

Ben tried to ignore the feelings of hunger and thirst threatening to overpower him at that moment. He had fought the need for the entire journey, hoping against hope that he could refrain from taking the blood of a human. He hadn’t yet found an alternative. And now, the mere mention of it from Snoke was enough to fill him with an ache the likes of which he’d never known. Snoke read his expression and raised part of his mouth to a ghastly half-smile. 

“I thought not,” he said. “So you see, that which you are feeling now will only grow stronger as time passes without sustenance. I will not need to threaten death, my boy. I only need to bide my time until you are mad with hunger until you are ready and oh so willing to take what is offered any way you can get it.”

Something broke inside of Ben. Something he wasn’t sure he still had. His last vestige of humanity. He was nothing more than a monstrous pawn in this horrible man’s game of chess. 

“And now I grow weary of this conversation. Guards, take him to the other.” Snoke stood to face Ben as the guards hauled him to his feet. “And remember my boy,” he murmured, “you are nothing. Nobody will remember you. You have been left here to be forgotten. Now you only have what I choose to give you. I own you, body, and soul.” He abruptly snuffed out the candle, putting an end to the macabre conversation, and ambled out of the office without a backward glance. 

Ben was taken out after him and dragged in the opposite direction further down the darkened hallway lit sporadically by torches on the walls. When they arrived at the final cell at the end of a corridor, they took the shackles off of Ben, unbolted the door, and threw him unceremoniously onto the cold, wet floor of hell. 

* * *

“Well, hello there, my friend,” uttered a voice in the darkness. Ben lifted his head, brushing his now-damp hair out of his face and laid eyes on the voice’s owner. The sound was comforting and warm, and Ben felt drawn to it as if it were a beacon of hope—a lighthouse in a stormy sea. He found that the man it belonged to transmitted the same ease and warmth. He was an older gentleman and yet moved with the grace and vitality of a much younger man as he stepped forward to offer Ben his hand. He led him to a makeshift seat of stone resting against the opposite wall and set Ben down gently.

“Thank you,” Ben murmured, too distraught to choke out anything more than a brief nod in the man’s direction. The gentleman patted Ben on the shoulder and sat before him on the floor.

“My name is Obi-wan Kenobi. Who are you, my friend?”

“Ben,” he croaked, and then clearing his throat in embarrassment, he repeated with more strength, “Benjamin Skywalker Solo.”

“And tell me, Benjamin Skywalker Solo, how do you come to find yourself in Exegol, of all places, and, if I may be so bold, are you not one of our kind?”

“I am here because I dared to love a woman wanted by someone more powerful,” Ben spat bitterly. “I am here because I was born the son of a stable hand and not a viscount.”

“Ah, I see,” the old man nodded knowingly, patting Ben’s hand. “And they forced this upon you, I see.” He gestured to Ben and himself, in turn, clearly implying the transformation to a bloodthirsty demon.

“Is there anyone who would choose to become this willingly?” Ben inquired, shaking his head at the foolish question.

“Life is all choices and consequences, my boy. Some of us choose things for different reasons. I’m sure you could have chosen differently had you thought of the consequences of your actions.”

“And who are you to lecture me about my actions, executioner?” Ben shouted. “How was I to know what would come of this? How was I to even suspect that my lifelong friend would…” he couldn’t finish the question. The hurt, and anger and hatred for Poe and his betrayal too fresh in his mind.

“My apologies, my boy,” Kenobi replied. “It was not my place. Forgive me. You see, I did, choose this future, believing, in my folly, that it would be better than death. I believed with eternity I could lead more men to God, and guide them spiritually. But I befriended the wrong man and learned things that made me a liability, so I was brought here to this cursed place and have been here these past eleven years, doling out the punishment of death to others who the world has chosen to abandon.”

“You are a priest then?” Ben queried.

The man nodded his head, his short white hair and beard dingy looking in the weak light. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Then how? How can you bring yourself to kill these men at the behest of that ghastly creature, Snoke?”

A small smile played upon Kenobi’s face as he answered. “This is where I believe my gifts are put to good use.”

Benn was horrified. “Good use?”

“Calm down and listen, boy. My purpose as an executioner is twofold. First, yes, to my utter shame, I feast on the blood of these men to sustain myself. If I could have it any other way, I most certainly would. But I have resigned myself and you will too, one day.” He held up his finger to stop Ben from interjecting. “Second, I provide a service to these wretched souls to ease their transition to the afterlife.” He waited as Ben sat processing the information.

“How?”

“I hear their confession, I offer absolution, and I numb their pain to give them transition to the afterlife.”

“An angel of death,” Ben mused sarcastically.

Kenobi smiled sadly, “No. I am only a man who understands the healing power of well-timed words.”

“How exactly do you numb their pain?” Ben asked, eager to provide some good despite his cursed existence. “Teach me.”

Kenobi nodded in agreement and began Ben’s first lesson on how to become a merciful killer. 

* * *

_My dearest darling Ben,_

_Your most recent letter was delivered to me this afternoon. I have had it in my possession for but a brief moment in time and yet it is inscribed on my heart. The pure love expressed in its words is engraved in my memory and I will return to it whenever I need a reminder of you and our love. I long for the day I can be yours in body as well as spirit and mind. Please do not think me shameful, but I do long for you, my darling Ben. For your touch, your kiss, the feel of your arms around me. I must make do with the caress of your words upon my cheek as I lay down to sleep at night. They fill my dreams with such happiness, I am near to bursting with joy. I want everyone to feel the way I feel, to know the way my heart races at the mere knowledge that there is a letter from you awaiting me. Each one is a treasure that I will guard with my life for as long as I live. I hope you will do the same. Hold my words close to your heart, dearest, and know that I am with you, always._

_Yours until the end,_ _  
__Rey_

Ben reread the words on the worn piece of parchment again before folding it back into a small square and sliding it down his shirtfront next to his heart. He hadn’t needed to read what it said, having memorized every word, every phrase, long ago. In the nearly eighteen months since Ben had arrived at Exegol prison, he had unfolded and refolded the letter countless times, until the creases were nearly worn through and the words faded into nothingness throughout. Yet every line was there, in his heart and his memory, as Rey had said of her letters. She was his only hope, the only thing he had to cling to as he wasted away in this stone cell day after day. 

He and Kenobi had discussed the idea to escape after Ben’s first forced execution. Kenobi had taught him to trick the mind of the condemned, to lull them into security, and cause them to fall into a trance-like state. This made it easier to sink his teeth into the soft flesh at the neck, to burst the carotid artery and drain the essence of life out of the victim and into himself. For Ben, the pleasure of the act was excruciating and brought about a wave of shame the likes of which he had never felt before. He wept later, tears of blood, into his hands, as Kenobi comforted him like the miserable creature he was. 

“I cannot do this for eternity, priest,” he sobbed, as the blood tears stained the front of his already tattered clothing. “I would rather you end me now. Please, priest.”

“Benjamin,” he responded quietly. “Do not give up hope. God is with us and will see us through.”

“There is no God,” Ben lamented. “What God would leave us all here to suffer so? Do not speak to me of God, priest.”

“Then what of Rey?” Kenobi reminded him. “Would you give up on her?”

Ben raised his head and met Kenobi’s eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment, an understanding passing between them. Ben nodded and lowered his head. 

“I have an idea,” Kenobi said. “I have thought about it for a time, but I believed I was needed here more than out there. I believe if we work together, we may be able to make it out of here and get you back to her.”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked.

“Escape.”

Kenobi’s plan was simple but time-consuming. He suggested they spend their sleepless evenings tunneling under the walls while the prison slept. While they had preternatural strength, they were still encumbered by the silver alloy collars around their necks that weakened them to the level of a mortal man. This meant the digging went on for longer than would have been necessary had they been allowed to exist at full strength. But with two of them, they were able to take turns when the other needed time to recover. For eighteen months they had been digging, keeping up hope that they would soon see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

It was on one particularly maudlin evening that Ben was missing Rey terribly when they were chipping away at the hard-packed earth beneath the prison walls and Ben asked Kenobi to share the reason he had been sentenced to Exegol. 

“Tell me about how you came to this place, priest,” Ben pleaded, “and distract me from my sorrow.”

Kenobi pondered in silence for a long while, and Ben continued without speaking again, assuming Kenobi had chosen to ignore his request. The sound of stone fragments scraping away minute chunks of dirt and rock in an endless rhythm was the only sound that filled the silence of the small space their larger than life bodies were crammed into. Ben was surprised to hear Kenobi begin the tale of how he had been doomed to end up in Exegol prison. 

“I had been made a mordu long before,” he began. “As I said, I worked for a man who made his fortune on the backs of others. I chose to ignore the details and continued to assist him in amassing a fortune to rival Queen Victoria herself. I helped him get richer at the expense of lives, Benjamin. To my everlasting sorrow. But I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe this man I had been apprenticed with since I was a youth could be so ruthless and cold-hearted. I had decided that I wanted to leave. To make a life for myself devoted to repentance and God. He was not receptive to my choices and so he betrayed my trust and had me turned so I would be forced to stay with him, restrained like an animal, at his mercy.”

Ben listened thoughtfully, continuing his work, not paying attention to the grains of earth falling down the sides of the tunnel.

“He was confronted by a man who threatened his fortune and his well being. He chose to fight this threat himself, instead of sending me and was mortally wounded in the process. He was a fool,” Kenobi sighed wearily. “In the end, I was the only man alive who retained the knowledge of the treasure my former employer had hidden. I was sent to work for the very man who had murdered him. He believed that I would share my knowledge with him in time. He forced me to be his Mordu Guard enforcer and transform anyone that got in his way, stealing their fortunes in the process.”

Ben had paused on hearing Kenobi mention the Mordu Guard. Surely he couldn’t mean…

“Priest,” he interrupted. “Who is this man you speak of?”

“His name is Palpatine. The Earl of Canning.”

Ben froze in shock, his gaze fixed unseeing on the rock in front of him. Palpatine? Rey’s grandfather? A murderer?

“Tell me more,” he urged.

“There is not much more to tell,” Kenobi sighed. “He had me murder for him to increase his wealth and power, and I still refused to tell him anything. In a fit of anger, he forced me to turn him and sent me away under the accusation that I had stolen my former employer’s treasure, to be forgotten until I was ready to confess. And here I am, nearly thirteen years later.”

Ben’s head swam and he curled his lip in disgust. Palpatine was a Mordu? And the head of the guard? It was so confusing. The idea that Rey was forced to be under the care of a vicious murderer made him want to tear through the earth with his bare hands, nonstop until he could reach her. His urge to get to her and protect her nearly did him in and he groaned, a painful, mournful sound that surprised Kenobi.

“Benjamin?”

Just then there was a low rumbling sound and a quaking that caused the tunnel around them to begin to collapse. Dirt and stone began to crumble and rain down upon them and they hurriedly turned around to scurry back to their cell—like rats in the night. Ben had nearly made it when the rumbling increased in volume and he heard a shout of pain behind him. 

“Priest!” he shouted.

The tunnel had collapsed completely, burying Obi-wan Kenobi under two feet of rock and debris. Ben could hear his moans of pain as he scrambled back to frantically dig his only friend out of his makeshift grave. When he reached Kenobi’s hand, he pulled with all the strength he could summon, ignoring the surge of exhaustion brought on him by his silver collar. He dragged Kenobi back to the cell, pulling him up and placing him gently upon the stone floor. 

Blood was spilling from Kenobi’s lips, staining his beard a grotesque bright red. Ben nearly swooned at the scent of the rich blood pooling into the grooves between stones. There must be more serious injuries elsewhere. He just needed to focus and see how he could help.

“Priest,” he gasped. “What can I do?” 

“I am at my end, Benjamin,” Kenobi responded. “My ribs, they are broken. I am draining. You must listen. It is very important.”

“No, no, no,” Ben shook his head, not wanting to listen. “I can’t let you leave me. I will be truly alone. Let me help you.” He brought his wrist to his lips, intending to tear his flesh and restore vitality to his friend.

“Benjamin. Ben, listen to me,” Kenobi said weakly, the color draining from his face. “It is too late for me, dear boy. You must listen. You must continue. Find a way out. Make your way to the island of Varykino. There, hidden in a lagoon at the center of the island, you will find the treasure of my former master. Take it, Ben. And use it to rebuild your life.” 

“No. I will only use it to wreak vengeance on Poe and Palpatine. I am no longer good, priest. I am alone.”

“You are never alone, Ben. God will be with you, always. Repeat it. The Island of Varykino. The lagoon at the center. Say it.” He coughed a low, wet, gurgling sound and Ben’s eyes grew wide at the amount of blood spread around them now. 

“Varykino,” he cried. “Lagoon at the center. I will remember, priest. I will remember.”

“Find your way back to her, Ben. There is good still inside you. Believe it as I do.”

With a final gasp and a sigh, Obi-Wan Kenobi's soul finally found it’s freedom on the stone floor of Exegol prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My daughter and I watched The Count of Monte Cristo last night. Her first time, my millionth. Once again I swooned at Jim Caviezel's badassery. I was tickled that the teen girl child felt the same. She thoroughly enjoyed it, but asked me a third of the way through when the vampires were going to show up, because apparently "count" equals "vampire." Her argument for this included both Count Chocula and Count Dracula, with a mention of the Count from Sesame Street to prove her point. I wish she'd listen to the important things I talk about instead of my rambling about vampire/classic literature fanfic hybrids.  
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed this installment. Next chapter we get to have some pirate action. Stay tuned!


	5. Can't See the Forest for the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Clo for encouraging me to work on this and for the feedback. Nobody loves this weird story like you. xoxo
> 
> CW // suicidal ideation in a brief thought by Ben towards the end of the chapter. You can skip if necessary. The small paragraph begins with the dialogue:
> 
> “No,” he replied.
> 
> and ends with
> 
> “I wish you well on your journey, my friend.”

Ben waited quietly in the shadows; his hands clenched tightly around the sizeable cold stone he had wrenched from the floor of the cell. He avoided looking in Kenobi’s direction, fighting down despair and the desire to curl into a ball in the corner and give up. The promise he made to Kenobi that he would escape and make his way back to Rey was fresh in his mind, and he couldn’t let him down. So he waited for the right moment to free himself from the grip of hopelessness closing in on him. 

The jingling of the guard’s keys echoed off the moss-covered walls, growing louder with each passing step as he came nearer. Ben’s mind worked frantically, deciding on a course of action. Even in this horrible place, they knew him for his probity. The guards neglected their vigilance around Ben, almost to the point of trust. Ben had earned it over time and was both grateful and guilty because of it. He was confident that trust would be the key to overtaking anyone who entered. He would deal with the guilt when he could spare the time. 

Ben grappled with how to lure the single guard in before he passed by the cell door. The two cellmates were rarely disturbed during the long days and nights due to their lack of human bodily needs. No food or water to deliver, no waste buckets needing emptying. They simply existed from day to day, serving their sentences, doling out capital punishment when necessary. Alerting the guard to Kenobi’s death would cause too great a disturbance. If anyone were to catch on that Kenobi had perished, there would be numerous men entering and exiting the cell—too many for Ben to overtake in his state. No, he needed to be circumspect and quick about it. Calmly, he raised his voice to alert the guard. 

“Ho, there! Guard! My companion has fallen ill. Can you assist us?”

The next few moments happened in a whirlwind. A rattling of keys, a creaking of the door, and Ben struck. The stone clutched in his hands came down with a devastating force, crushing the guard’s skull with a ridiculously small amount of effort on the part of his executioner. Ben allowed himself a moment to pray for this man’s soul and utter a worthless apology before scrambling to grab the keys, coated in rust and gore. He tried and failed several times before finding the key to unlock the collar around his neck. Once removed, he could feel strength seeping back into him as if it had been hovering around him in a cloud, just waiting to re-enter his body. Grabbing the guard’s pistol, he said his final goodbye to Obi-Wan Kenobi and slipped into the dim hall. 

Creeping along the sides of the corridors, he tried to move as quietly as possible. The cavernous halls amplified the smallest of sounds, and before Ben could exit the cursed halls, he heard shouting from behind him. Panic coursed through him as the sound came nearer. He rounded a corner and saw a sliver of moonlight shining on the rain-soaked grounds beyond the exit. 

“Going somewhere?”

Ben stopped short as Snoke stepped in front of him, halting his progress. The warden curled his lip in a sinister sneer as he drew his pistol and pointed it directly at Ben’s chest. Ben had assumed he would feel fear at staring down a weapon that would certainly end his life, considering the bullets’ proximity and the likelihood of them containing silver. In actuality, he knew now that he had the speed to avoid the shot without restraints—he was sure of it. It was only a bone-crushing weariness he felt at what he knew he needed to do once Snoke fired the shot.

He raised the pistol hidden behind his back and aimed at Snoke. Ducking the moment he heard the gunfire, he lunged at the warden, his own pilfered firearm firing point-blank at the withered man’s chest. He fought the urge to feed as he watched the scarlet bloom spread in its terrible symmetry, seeping from the ruined body and staining the garish brocade waistcoat fastened tightly around the decrepit form. Groaning in disgust, he threw the body aside, not bothering to watch the life drain from it, a visual reminder of yet another death on his hands. 

Straightening to his full height, he pocketed the pistol and began to run.

There was no other choice to make as the guards, alerted by the shots fired, advanced on him, and he reached the sheer face of the cliff. The pounding of his bare feet on the cold, wet ground coupled with the relentless crash of the unruly waves below was a discordant symphony of sound drowning out all other thoughts but one. 

_ Jump _

He leaped from the edge of the cliff into the waiting abyss. Plummeting through the frigid night air, he felt like he was nearly floating, his thoughts holding him still in space and time as Ben felt himself lose every piece of innocence he may have retained. He could convince himself that the countless deaths on his hands in the time spent at Exegol were merciful, as Kenobi had tried to have him believe. These last two deaths, however, had a purpose. They were for his benefit. 

It was the final turning point for Benjamin Skywalker Solo—a desperate angel falling from grace, turning away from everything he had ever believed. Much like the devil himself, Ben’s greatest sin was born of intent. Each of their sins served their purpose, yet the choice to commit them was without outside interference. 

He felt great amusement at the line that Poe had so often quoted to him when coaxing him to mischief, that it was ‘better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.’ The irony made him laugh bitterly. He had been serving in the very bowels of Hell and could only hope that one day, Rey could forgive his sins, and he would have the chance to reign in his own personal Heaven, with her by his side. 

The icy tendrils of the water below grasped his limbs as he broke the surface, jolting Ben into the present, restarting time, and reminding him that he was not yet entirely free. Still not completely familiar with his body in its immortal form, he was shocked to discover that he was unaffected by the cold water. He knew it was cold because it is something one simply knows, but the feel of the water on his flesh was nothing like what he had experienced throughout his childhood splashing and playing with Rey in the cold water of the fountains on the grounds of her home. 

Rey

It all led back to her. She was the reason he had promised the priest that he would continue the plan of escape. If Ben allowed himself to dwell on it, he could argue that Rey was the reason for every decision Ben had made for as long as he could remember. It was the thought of her that made him pull his way to the surface of the water and begin to swim--making his way through the darkness in the hope that he would find her well at the end of his journey.

Time for a mordu did not pass in the same way that it does for mortals. Ben could have been swimming for minutes or hours. He did not tire, nor weaken—he simply endured, knowing that he would arrive at a turning point in time, be it land or vessel, that would move him to the next phase of his journey. 

The moon arched through the night sky, paying no mind to the immortal, cutting a path through the water below. It glistened on his pale skin as he moved strong and steady through the inky darkness. Its bright light was a reminder that he needed shelter before the light of the sun broke across the heavens, destroying his hope. And so he swam, on and on, steady and robust, fighting back the uncertainty with a determination that each stroke was bringing him closer to her. 

After an indeterminate amount of time, Ben saw the outline of a ship under the starlit sky. He kicked harder until he was within sight of the vessel before flipping onto his back like a dead fish and letting himself float in the vicinity. 

Within moments he could hear frantic shouting of “man overboard” and a chaotic cacophony of men as one spotted him from the crow’s nest. 

Ben thought it wise to feign unconsciousness as he was tethered to the ship and pulled out of the churning water. His body arched backward limply as they circled his torso with thick, rough ropes and hauled him aboard, his tattered clothes and hair dripping seawater, puddling on the deck as they lowered him to the boards. He kept his eyes closed and let his senses guide him, gauging the seamen’s intent based on their suspicious murmurings or whether or not they smelled heavily of drink. Ben had no use for naysayers and drunkards. Neither would help him in any way. 

One voice, slightly louder than the others, showed concern that Ben would have thought worrisome, had he not been restored to full strength. This man seemed more attuned to his surroundings and Ben’s differences than the others. 

“I say, doesn’t he look unnaturally pale?” one man uttered, his voice’s cadence different than the rest.

“He’s dead. That’s what happens. He’s not even breathin’.” The second man’s voice sounded much more akin to a ship's crewman, hard and rough and brooking no disagreement. 

“I don’t think he is, sir. I believe I just saw his eyes flutter.”

“You see things, Huxley. Get out of the way and let the others pitch him back in.”

The man, Huxley, began to argue with what could have been his superior, and Ben thought it best to avoid conflict based on his arrival and let out a groan. The men around him startled and moved closer to poke and prod at this solid flesh. 

“Well, I’ll be.”

“Looks like ole Huxley was right.”

“Roll him over. Let him get it all out.”

“Someone alert the captain.”

Ben allowed himself to be roughly rolled to his side and coughed for the crew’s benefit, playing the part of the rescued seafarer. 

“Can you hear me?”

_ Slap _

“Wake up, man!”

_ Slap, slap _

Ben grit his teeth to hold back his retort and attempted to impersonate a half-drowned man returning to consciousness. It took a monumental effort to refrain from grabbing this person by the throat and tossing him overboard. It would be too easy, like batting away a bothersome insect. Instead, he maintained his composure and “woke” gradually, hoping his ruse would be convincing. 

“Where am I?” he queried, affecting a gravelly tone and letting himself be sat up and leaned against the side of the ship. 

“You, my friend, are on my ship, the  _ Silencer.  _ And we bid you welcome. I am Captain Ren. These witless oafs who pulled you aboard are Mitaka and Huxley. What is your name?”

Ben took in the captain’s attire. He wore all black trousers, knee-high leather boots, and a pleated black linen shirt embellished with black embroidery whorls upon the open collar. All of this covered by a black brocade waistcoat and claret fitted jacket. His cropped black hair fell across his forehead over dark brows and crystal blue eyes. A day’s worth of stubble shadowed the areas that weren’t entirely covered by a thick mustache and beard, and a silver beaded ear bob dangled from his lobe to finish off the look. Ben thought it took a significant effort to avoid rolling his eyes at the captain’s sartorial choices. He glanced over at the captain’s men and noticed their dress was much more suited to their employment—each man adorned in worn trousers, plain linen shirts, and sturdy jackets that served well in function rather than fashion. Ben took in the sight of these men quickly before setting his eyes back on the captain. 

“My name is of no import. I am nobody.”

“Ah. Well, that  _ is _ interesting. And how does someone who is no one end up floating in the sea in the middle of the night?”

“Perhaps he was tossed, sir?” the smaller one, Mitaka, sneered, holding a dagger under Ben’s throat, twisting it gleefully, hoping for a reaction. Ben glanced at the taller man—the one the captain called Huxley—his short, red hair and full beard revealing his identity as a Gael, and his sea-green eyes intent and watchful. Ben knew this man was much more intelligent than either the foppish captain or the bloodthirsty gremlin currently threatening Ben with his dagger. 

“One might argue someone who is no one should end his days face down in the depths of the sea.”

Ren barked out a hearty laugh. “Well-played, my good man. Mitaka, get your arse up and bring our guest to my quarters.” 

“This way, my lord,” Mitaka mock bowed before hissing out a laugh that showed his blackened teeth. Ben shuffled to his feet, attempting to move slowly, not to give away his preternatural abilities. 

He followed the seaman to the captain's quarters, taking the proffered seat and coolly eying the strange man before him. They stared at each other for some time before Captain Ren came into the room and ushered Mitaka away. 

“So, friend. Perhaps now that we are alone,” he held up a bottle of amber liquid in an offer that Ben silently declined with a shake of his head, “you can explain how a mordu finds himself floating in the sea so close to Exegol prison.”

Ben’s body tensed, and his long fingers gripped the table in front of him, unintentionally leaving small craters in their wake. Candlelight flickered on the lead crystal glass Ren held to his lips as Ben frantically thought of how to escape this man without harming him. He could not afford to have his secret found out and risk the entire crew’s fearful wrath. This newfound situation was aggravating his already frayed nerves. He needed to find somewhere safe to bed down during daylight hours, which were fast approaching. He would need to plead his case with Ren, sneak out, or commit more acts of violence, which he had no stomach for after his ordeal at Exegol. He opened his mouth to speak when Ren raised his hand. 

“I do not judge you in any way, my friend. And I believe had your intentions been other than honorable, my crew and I would have already found ourselves at your mercy. This ship is full of sinners and adventurers—we have no cause to judge others akin to our kind. I find instead that I am fascinated by mordu biology. I have always thought it would be magnificent to live for eternity.”

Ben bristled at the implication. 

“I have no desire to pass on the curse of my existence to anyone. For any reason.”

Ren hummed thoughtfully in response. 

“I see. So then, I must ask, what are your intentions? Your proximity to Exegol leads me to believe you have managed somehow to break your bonds? Therefore you require shelter? Food? I admit, I do not relish the idea of losing valuable crew members to your appetite, although some are less valuable than others.” He chuckled, and Ben could only assume he meant Mitaka. 

“I need a safe passage to London and no questions. I do not intend to feed on your crew. I am content for the time being. I regret that I currently have nothing to offer you as payment, but upon my safe return, I can bring you money.”

“I wonder,” Ren began, tapping his finger on his glass and narrowing his eyes at Ben. “You say that you would not pass your curse to others. But what if this is the payment I seek?”

“I refuse,” Ben responded immediately. 

“Ahh, but then, you would be without safe passage to London, and I’d be left with a headless mordu corpse to dispose of. And really, neither of us wins then.” 

He took a final drink and set the glass down with a theatrical thud. Ben mulled over the man’s obvious threat and decided to play along for now. 

“It seems as if I have no choice then. Payment upon my safe arrival?”

A cold smile of satisfaction split the captain’s face, and he held his hand out to clasp Ben’s to seal their agreement. 

“It seems we have a deal, then.”

* * *

Ben spent his time on the  _ Silencer _ split between a darkened storage room during daylight hours and the lingering shadows at night. Besides Captain Ren, the only crewman who didn’t skirt him as if he were a spooked horse was the tall Gael, Huxley. For the first few days, Huxley lurked on Ben’s periphery, watching, always watching, each day moving closer like an animal learning to trust its master. Closer and closer he came until finally, on Ben’s last night on the ship, Huxley spoke. 

“You’re the first of your kind I’ve seen that wasn’t out of their minds. You seem quite like a real man.”

“I am a real man,” Ben replied tiredly. “Or, I was, once.”

“You’ve told no one who you are. Why is that?”

“Who I am, is not who I once was. This,” Ben gestured to his front, “is only a mockery of my former self.”

“What was your former self’s name, then?”

“Benjamin,” he said mournfully. “Ben.”

“I am Armitage Huxley. Hux to the people I like. You’ll notice, no one on this ship calls me Hux.” His smirk drew a hint of a smile and soft chuckle from Ben, and he was surprised to see Hux offering his hand in friendship. He took it gladly, relieved that his cold skin and pale visage did not turn Hux away, as it did so many others on board. 

“Why did they do it to you?” Hux queried without preamble. Ben needed no explanation for the man’s curiosity. “Those I’ve seen only kill, not pass on the gift. How is it that you were transformed?”

“The one who made me was indeed feral,” Ben replied. “Out of his mind. Bent on nothing but satisfying a need. They had him chained, like an animal. Used him to enact their punishments.”

“That is shocking. Savages,” Hux spit, his voice dripping disgust.

“To whom are you referring? The poor soul who was trapped and forced to kill to feed himself, not knowing anything but rage and hunger? Or the men who made him so? After a similar existence in exegol, I hold no ill will toward my maker. That intensity I save for the one who ordered him unleashed.”

“And who was that?”

Ben grew silent for a moment, a flash of anger in his eyes so bright, it gave his face a feral look that was more familiar to Hux. He pulled back infinitesimally, alerting Ben to his discomfort, and he smiled in apology and answered the man’s question. 

“My best friend.”

Hux listened as Ben related his tale from beginning to end, quietly watching, green eyes observant to Ben’s apparent need to unburden himself. When he had reached the end, with himself as the protagonist aboard a pirate’s ship, he grew quiet and leaned back, letting Hux process the newfound information. 

“That is quite the tale,” he said after a moment. 

“I wish it were not mine to tell,” Ben replied sardonically. Though he, in his current form, did not physically get tired, he had a weariness that lived in his bones and manifested in his words. 

Hux responded with a wry smile. “So, you return to London to enact revenge on this Poe and Palpatine, and steal away with the lady Rey then?”

“Would that I could, but she’ll not want me like this. I have no hope for anything but the knowledge of her good health and safety.”

“Liar.”

Ben gave a short, surprised laugh and smiled at his newfound friend. 

It had not gone unnoticed by either man that throughout that evening, the sea had become a bit rougher, the waves larger, the stars faded from the night sky. So they were only mildly surprised when the ship lurched, tossing several unsuspecting men across the deck, tumbling over to right themselves. 

All at once, thunder and lightning struck, ripping the night sky open to a flood of pouring rain. The crew reacted quickly, their anxiety thick in the air. Such a massive storm, so close to land, did not bode well for safe arrival. Ben followed Hux’s lead, using his strength to assist the men with fastening, securing, and filling in where needed. He knew nothing of sailing and words bandied about like boom, jib, and gaff, but for the first time in a long while, Ben felt needed—and not for nefarious purposes. 

They fought valiantly against the storm for hours, to no avail. The fierce winds and raging waves hurled the ship back and forth until, with a significant surge, the vessel lurched, overturned, and violently flung all men aboard into the vast emptiness of the night. 

Ben reached the rocky cliffs in a matter of minutes. The  _ Silencer _ was lost, tossed along the shore like an abandoned rag doll, broken apart piece by piece. He hung his head in sorrow at the lives lost among its crew, wanting to scream out his frustrations at the world for its cruelty. So many deaths. More for one man to carry upon his conscience. The only comfort to Ben was that this was an act above and beyond his cause or control. 

Collapsing back on the cold rocks, he let the rain beat down on his face, washing away his guilt and shame for being the lone survivor of this disaster when he heard a noise that made him sit up. Listening intently, he heard the sound again and stood, peering out into the night, shielding his eyes from the fierce rain. A roll of thunder and a flash of lightning illuminated a hand reaching up from the waves, grasping at hope, so far out of his reach. A plaintive wail broke through the crash of the sea and filled Ben with more fear than the booming thunder had. 

Immediately, he dove into the water, paying no mind to the danger and swimming fiercely in the direction of whoever was out there, desperate and alone. He grasped him roughly when he reached the man, pulling him close and swimming fast and hard for the shore. Upon arrival, he tossed the man to the cold, wet sand and was shocked and relieved to see it was Hux, still breathing, drained from his fight against a watery death. 

“You,” was all the Gael could say before he succumbed to exhaustion. 

Ben had dragged Hux into a cave to await the dawn, needing to ensure his safety from the sun's burning rays. He waited patiently as Hux slept, building a fire to keep him warm and searching for food and something to capture the rainwater. When Hux awoke, he expressed his thanks exuberantly. 

“You saved my life, Ben. I can never repay you.”

“Why wouldn’t I save your life? Don’t be a fool. No sane man would expect repayment for a life.”

“And yet you will have it. A life for a life, then. As long as I live, I am your devoted servant.”

“Hux—“

“In this life and beyond, Ben. I am your man.”

There was a long pause in which Ben took in what Hux was saying. Never in his life had he been the recipient of such devotion, other than from Rey. It was overwhelming. Had he been human, he would have blushed at the emotion. Instead, he closed his eyes and nodded, accepting the loyalty so freely given.

“What now?” Hux asked.

“There are people I need to see. Rey, of course. My father, first. His home is where I have money to purchase what we need to move forward.”

Hux stopped him with a hand and rolled up his pant leg, revealing a small item tied securely to his limb. He removed it and opened a cloth bag, revealing a generous amount of coin. He handed it forward to Ben.

“Take it and do what you must.”

Looking at what must have been the man’s life savings, he eyed him carefully.

“Are you certain?” 

“As I said, you have my trust in this life and the next, Ben. Take it. Do what is needed.” 

“You keep it then. Go and buy us a boat. It need not be large, but it must be able to hide me through daylight. Do you understand? I am putting my life into your hands.”

“I understand.”

“I assume you know enough to be able to operate it?”

He nodded, “I do.”

“Good. I promise you; you will receive payment tenfold when we reach our next destination. I will return here before midnight. We will leave then.”

“Where are we going?”

“All will be revealed when I return.” 

“Very well. Good luck, Ben.”

They clasped arms and shared a look that gave Ben a spark of hope for the first time since Kenobi’s death that he was, indeed, not alone. 

* * *

He arrived at the earl’s estate and made his way to the mews where his father’s apartments were. He knocked loudly, hoping his alteration would not cause his father distress. He bit back his childish excitement and lifted his hand to knock again when the door opened, and a weathered old face peeked through the crack to look at the stranger at his door. 

“Yes? Who is it?”

“I. I am looking for Han Solo. This is his apartment, is it not?”

The man’s face changed from irritation to dismay as he looked Ben up and down once more.

“Come in, son. Set yourself by the fire.”

He knew. Before his foot breached the threshold of the door, he knew. His instinct was to turn and run, but his body kept moving inside, toward the fire to the chair, where he sat and waited. When the old man sat across from him, he wasted no time. It was a luxury he no longer had. 

“How did it happen?”

The man sighed and slumped in his seat. “It was after he received the letter that his son had passed.” He made the sign of the cross to himself. Ben shook his head in confusion. 

“Died? I don’t understand.”

“His son Benjamin took it upon himself to leave without a by your leave and booked passage to America. He died on the ship, and they laid him to rest at sea. Han wasn’t the same after that and fell into grief so profound he just couldn’t pull himself out of it. He fell ill and never recovered.”

Ben had long ago given up on God, believing him to be a crutch for sinners and saints alike. At that moment, he desperately wished there was a god and that He were a real living being with whom Ben could take out his frustrations, railing against him for all the torment he had endured in so little time. His voice, thick with grief, managed to form the next question.

“What of Lady Palpatine?”

“Lady Regina? Her wedding to Viscount Dameron is in less than a fortnight. Are you acquainted with her ladyship?” 

There was nothing but silence. Not even the sound of his heartbeat to ground him. The room felt airless. Had he needed it to breathe, Ben indeed would have collapsed. No shock he had endured over the past two years could prepare him for what he had just heard.

Then, the shock, the palpable anguish upon learning of his father’s demise transformed into a white-hot rage that licked up his spine like an errant flame. He could feel nothing but fury feed his thoughts. Where Rey’s beautiful, innocent face had once lived, now was occupied by the vision of her clouded in seductive destruction, wrapped in Dameron’s embrace, conspiring to get rid of Ben and relishing the success. Every happiness he had ever felt had been because of her, yet it was apparent that every sorrow of the last two years was also her doing. All for Poe Dameron. He fantasized about wrapping his thick hands around Poe’s neck and snapping it like the head of a matchstick. 

“Son, are you quite alright?” The old man’s voice brought Ben back from his violent delights with a start. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you knew her ladyship.”

Ben thought now that perhaps he never really knew her at all. 

“No,” he replied. “In name only. I knew the Solo family worked for hers. Only mild curiosity. I thank you for the information and bid you a good evening, for I must be on my way.” He stood and offered a gloved hand in thanks. The old man shook it, and Ben withdrew quickly, needing to leave the space before giving in and flinging himself into the fire. 

“I wish you well on your journey, my friend.”

He led Ben past the threshold and out into the cold night, shutting the heavy door behind him. Ben stood for a moment, gazing up at the moon, and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. Unfolding the delicate letter that he had managed to keep safe all this time, Ben looked upon it with disgust. The worn folds, the faded script committed to memory, all lines of lies etched into the paper, into his heart. He was thankful it no longer beat. The essence of it breaking was nearly unbearable; the physical pain would have been enough to do him in. 

He crumpled it in his hand forcefully as he began his journey back to where Hux was awaiting him, wishing to grind the note to a pulp then and there. He would have tossed it into the gutter, a fitting end for such trash when something stopped him. Perhaps it was Kenobi’s voice telling him not to give up hope. Maybe it was the memory of the young girl with the green ribbon in her chestnut hair who had captured his soul so long ago. Or perhaps he was just a fool. And so, like a fool, he pocketed the paper and continued towards the docks. 

When Ben arrived at the rendezvous, Hux was waiting for him, anxiously pacing until he noticed Ben. Relief washed over his expressive face. 

“Ben, I thought—“

“Did you do as I asked?” he interrupted. 

“I-I did.”

“Then we sail with the tide. Let us leave this place.”

Hux noticed Ben’s angry visage, the firm set of his shoulders, and knew something had gone very wrong. He also knew this was not the time to question it. Instead, he asked, “Where are we headed?”

Ben kept his pace, not turning back as he answered with one word. 

“Varykino.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If someone wants to take the reigns and write an entire adventure detailing how Hux came to be in the company of Captain Ren (who is totally Killian Jones in my mind not even sorry about it) I'll be super-duper best friends with you forever. 
> 
> I know it's been forever since there was an update, so for those few still in it, hope you enjoy. xoxo


	6. I Remember You

It had been months since Rey had dreamt of him. More often than not, her dreams were flashes of images and feelings—intangible, hiding just out of reach in a shroud of fog. Never memorable, providing neither pleasure nor pain, only a brief respite from her monotonous waking hours where she was required to pretend to be the happy, adoring bride-to-be. She had assumed she would feel more as the day drew nearer: trepidation, anxiety, dismay. Rey only found that with each passing day, she grew more numb. Yet another assumption was that with time would come nightmares as her upcoming wedding date drew near. Still, even though the dreaded day was nearly upon her, she felt nothing. Dreamed nothing. 

And so it was unusual that this night, the dream she had experienced was one that shocked her, frightened her, excited her, and left her sobbing in her bed, trembling like a newborn baby. He had come to her, as young and beautiful as he had been those two years before, smiling his dimpled, crooked smile. 

“Regina,” he called to her, his arms wide, welcoming. 

“Benjamin!” she shouted in return, wanting to break into a run, needing to touch him, to feel his corporeal form and know he was real, but her body refused to respond. No longer able to move, she could only watch, bound by the cruelty of a deep slumber, tormented, losing him yet again as he faded into the mist. 

Although her location seemed to remain the same, the dream shifted; something about the air felt altered. It lay heavy on her shoulders. She was Atlas carrying a back-breaking burden; only  _ her _ world was right in front of her. She peered through the fog, only to notice Ben had reappeared, similarly altered. He was darker somehow, colder, the light in his eyes dimmed. Her need turned to desperation, and still, she was unable to break the bonds that feature so often in dreams where desire is unrequited. 

Rey managed to wrench free of her restraints and witness him vanish once more, only to feel him materialize behind her. The misty fog had grown so thick; no light could penetrate it. The all-consuming darkness enveloped them, yet she knew he was there. Rey could feel his arms encircle her shoulders. She nearly wept with relief at the ability to feel again. 

His cold hand slid around her throat, filling her with a vague sense of unease and leaving a chilled path of goose flesh in its wake, before slipping into her daringly low décolletage. Rey gasped at the sensation of her entire breast filling his palm, his fingers soft yet firm as they pulled her from the whalebone corset, and the soft tip of her breast drawing into a tight bud at the contact. She shuddered, an unfamiliar ache building low inside her. That it was, at long last, her dearest Ben touching her so intimately, made it nearly too much to bear. Never before had she felt anything like this—a man’s touch. It was a match to dry tinder, and her destiny to be consumed by it. Rey welcomed the conflagration freely—she would surely burn the entire kingdom to ashes to feel his hands on her in this way.

Giving in to desire, craving more, she turned to meet his gaze, and a visceral terror clutched at her heart. His eyes were black as the new moon, staring through her with an intensity that weakened her. She attempted to pull away when his grip tightened, and he opened his mouth to reveal the jaw of an animal rearing back to strike. She opened her mouth to scream, horrified to find that no sound would come. 

Rey sat bolt upright in her bed, shivering, hair damp, skin flushed, and feeling a fire inside the most feminine part of her that she had never experienced before. The space between her legs throbbed in a way she didn’t understand. The intensity of it was overwhelming, and she burst into tears of shame as the memory, laced with fear of the transformation of his face, taunted her behind her closed eyes. 

Would she never be free of him?

A soft knock came at the door, and Rey sat up and straightened her nightgown and patted her cheeks with the corner of her bed linens. She inhaled deeply, feeling a bit stronger as the morning air entered her lungs. 

“Come in,” she said in a firm tone. 

Her maid, Kaydel Connix, breezed through the door, carrying a gleaming silver tray laden with Rey’s morning tea. 

“Good morning, my lady,” she chirped. 

The delicate China cup and saucer, along with the elaborate silver tea service, made only a slight tinkling sound when Connix laid it on a side table, a testament to her skill. Rey gave her a weak smile, and a murmured thank you. Connix nodded in return and went about her daily routine, opening curtains, preparing the toilette, and laying out clothing for her mistress. When finished, she turned to Rey, who already wore a blush velveteen dressing gown, seated at the small table, idly stirring her tea while deep in thought. 

“Will there be anything else, my lady?”

“No, thank you, Connix. I’ll ring if I need you.”

“Excellent, miss,” Connix replied and turned to exit the room as quietly as she entered, shutting the doors behind her. 

Rey stared gloomily into her teacup, wishing she had the gift of tasseomancy she had seen once from a traveling Roma woman. To be able to peer at her tea leaves and see her future would be a useful skill. Perhaps she would be able to interpret her disturbing dream as well. 

Grasping the teacup, Rey brought it to her lips and drank it down, careful to avoid consuming the bitter tea leaves. She swirled the cup, as she had seen it done, and inverted it on her saucer, lifting it back up to see the result of her divination. 

What she found was nothing more than a messy, wet glob resembling nothing but a foolish attempt at ignoring what was right in front of her—apprehension of an impending marriage and the desperate longing for a dead man. 

Sighing in resignation, Rey stood up from her table and gazed around her room, taking in her surroundings. The damask wallpaper, intricately carved furnishings, and heavy draperies held no interest for her, much to everyone’s chagrin. From the time she was a small child, she had stubbornly refused to focus on the skills everyone assured was necessary for a lady of her rank. Rey would concede that the ability to handle a needle did benefit her when she would rip her uniform during a struggle with a feral mordu or when she needed to sew up one of the fools in the guard who always managed to injure themselves during a raid. Still, she put her foot down at drawing landscapes and painting China teacups. 

She’d much rather be training with the guard, walking through the gardens, or riding the horses Ben had so loved than learning how to keep a house or the feminine delights of redecorating her future home. 

Rey saw no point in any of it. Marriage to a Dameron would only be exchanging one gilded cage for another, the keys passing from her grandfather to Poe, and she could not bring herself to care about how they settled the transaction. She had spent nearly two years trying to convince herself that none of it mattered without Ben. A prison was a prison, no matter how well-decorated.

In an attempt to shake off the gloom that had settled on her since waking, Rey positioned herself by a large window, facing the front of the house, hoping that a bit of air and light would do her good. What she saw only served to irritate her, and she backed away before Poe, exiting his carriage, could see her in her dressing gown. She rang for Kaydel and reluctantly began her task of preparing for the day, knowing once Poe had concluded business with her grandfather, he’d be demanding her attention. 

Once fully dressed in a simple steel blue gown, her hair pulled from her face to flow loosely down her back, she ventured downstairs. Seeing no immediate need for her presence, she entered the morning room alone to sit for a quiet breakfast, preferring it to the snobbish finery of her grandfather’s formal dining room. While absentmindedly dining on her porridge, she pored over the discarded newspaper she had taken from the library, searching for anything mentioning the mordu, the guard, or any information she could gather that would be helpful. 

Oddly enough, Rey noticed the absence of anything referring to mordu in the paper, rather than the presence of it, and she paused thoughtfully, her spoon halfway to her lips. It had been tranquil for days now, with no need for more than training sessions and brief meetings with the fellow guard. Something about the lack of incidents disturbed Rey, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. One might think the guard was just that successful at ridding the kingdom of the vermin mordu; only Rey knew the ineptitude of most of the men with which she trained. She’d wager half of them could not hit the broad side of a barn if their very life depended on it. 

An untimely, unladylike snort at the thought was what Poe heard as he entered the room, disrupting her musings. 

“Ah, it is you, Regina. For a moment I had thought I had stumbled into a pigpen.”

Rey frowned and turned back to her reading, not bothering to look at him as she quipped, “Seeing as how you are so familiar with and so like the animals of which you speak, I wonder at how you could make a mistake.” 

“I see we are as charming as ever, my dear.”

“I am not your dear,” she chastised him. “As you are well aware. Now spare me the charade and just tell me what you want.” Her eyes still glued to the newspaper, distracted Poe from his snide retort, and he moved closer to her, peering over her shoulder. 

“What are you reading?”

“The broadsides,” she replied, her tone one of frustration. Poe could obviously see what it was. Glancing at his face and seeing his look of uncertain curiosity only made her snort again and roll her eyes. She angled the paper toward him. “Look and tell me what you see.”

He glanced at the paper, quickly skimming the contents, and shrugging his shoulders in response. 

“I see nothing.”

“Precisely. There is nothing. No reports of attacks, no freshly transformed mordu thrashing in the streets, nothing. Not a whisper of activity for days. Do you not think it strange?”

He paused and considered this. Rey was sure she saw something flicker across his face, but it was gone before she could identify it. 

“I think it is more of a blessing,” he said casually, brushing the topic away like a piece of lint on a frock coat. “And all the more beneficial to what I have come to tell you.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” she asked, snapping her newspaper dismissively.

Sighing in annoyance, he pulled a creamy, thick envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to Rey. She set down her newspaper and took the sturdy stationery from him. It was expensive, addressed with a precise, luxurious script. She read the honorific out loud, pitching her voice high and lacing it with derision.

“His Lordship Viscount Dameron.” She giggled and unfolded the paper, noticing the signet embedded in the wax seal. 

“K.R. Who is that?”

“Your new neighbor,” Poe replied, taking the seat opposite her.

“Indeed?”

Rey was now more interested than before and continued to read aloud the card she slipped out of the envelope. 

“His Grace, Kylo Ren, Count of Varykino requests the pleasure of His Lordship Viscount Dameron and guest’s company tomorrow evening, for a masquerade, half-past nine.

Dancing.

Coruscant Park”

A noncommittal hum accompanied her, handing the invitation back to Poe, and Rey quietly picked up where she left off, apart from eating any more of her porridge, which had since gone cold. 

“Well?” Poe encouraged, obviously wanting Rey to share in his excitement. “A masquerade given by a mysterious new member of society. That should cheer you up.”

“I was unaware of my lack of cheer, Poe.” 

“Rey,” he sighed, “this is our chance to meet the man who purchased the property next to yours. Are you not the least bit curious?”

“I have a job to do, Poe. Keeping the streets free of murderous, bloodthirsty monsters. The intrigues of London society do not hold my interest.” 

“You said yourself it has been quiet for days. Surely one evening of merriment will not cause the world to stop spinning.”

“Isn’t eternal vigilance the price we must pay for our safety, my _ dear _ ?” 

Slapping the invitation onto the gleaming mahogany table, Poe stood and glared at Rey. “Regina Palpatine, I am at my wit’s end with you,” he growled. 

“Really? Only now? It was my impression you lost any bit of wit years ago. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Poe, but I will not be attending this masquerade.” She pushed her chair back and stood in an attempt to leave only to be met with her personal space quickly filled by her fiancée, leveling her with a cold black stare. 

“This is not a request, Regina. You will attend.”

“You forget yourself, Poe. I am not yet your wife to command.”

“Perhaps not in name, just yet, but in essence, you are mine, and you will be attending the ball with me. Your costume has been ordered and will arrive this afternoon. You will wear it and present yourself as befits my family name.”

She scoffed at his order. “I will present myself  _ as _ myself because I am not your property.”

“Don’t bait me, Regina. I’ve had enough of your headstrong ways. For two years, I’ve dealt with this perceived independence, but do not doubt that in a brief measure of time, you will be my property. And as your lord and master, I demand that you attend this ball and be on your best behavior.”

His voice had grown colder, louder, and Rey’s matched him in volume and pitch with each perceptible increase until she lost control and shouted her response.

“You are sorely mistaken if you believe you will ever be able to issue an order that I will obey!”

Swiftly, Poe raised his arm, fully intending to slap Rey for her insolence. Priding herself on her quick reflexes, she immediately grabbed his hand, stopping its forward progress, and twisted it, pulling his pinkie finger backward until he dropped to his knees with a howl of pain. 

“Raise a hand to me again, my lord,” she seethed, her voice thick with venom, “and I will detach this digit and wear it proudly on my chatelaine.”

“Regina! What in heaven’s name are you doing?!”

At the sound of her grandfather’s voice, Rey turned and graced her current lord and master with feigned innocence and a smile so insincere he could not help but to laugh indulgently. 

“Good morning, grandfather. Are you well?”

“Regina, you would try the patience of a saint. Unhand your fiancée and behave yourself.”

“That’s twice in one day I’ve been told to behave myself. I wonder if you gentlemen have ever witnessed true misbehavior.” The word  _ gentlemen _ she spat in a way that conveyed that she saw neither man as such. She let go of Poe’s hand and waltzed toward the door, stopping to raise her cheek to allow her grandfather a brief peck. 

“I must take my leave of you, my lords, as it seems I am to be fitted for a costume so I may be paraded like a peacock for our new neighbor tomorrow evening. Please do keep me abreast of all the decisions you continue to make for me,” she groused, flouncing her way out through the exit with a sharp swish of her skirts. 

Exiting the morning room, Rey lifted her skirts and broke into a run, praying they were not coming after her and that she could not be seen by the servants always lurking in the shadows of this cursed house. Rey fought back the tears as she replayed the morning’s events in her mind. Naturally, she was mortified at her behavior and could only explain it to herself as exhaustion or anxiety. It was becoming much too easy for her to slip into the anger simmering just under the surface, and more often than not, Poe was the victim of her fiery temper. The truth was, she was afraid of what would happen if she were to give in to the anger and hatred she spent so much energy fighting back daily. 

Out of breath, her ire cooled somewhat, Rey slowed to a walk, gasping against the stays in her corset. Connix certainly had done her duty in making Rey’s waist an unnatural spectacle, much to the detriment of her lung capacity. She slumped into a nearby chair, not caring about etiquette for a moment, and allowed herself to drape across the seat the way a man would, all legs and ambivalence. 

“Oh, that I were a man,” she recited from memory, her favorite line from Shakespeare. Lady Beatrice knew, just as Rey did, that men walked a different path than women. Rey had been able to toe the line dividing the sexes for a short time, but she knew it was nearly at an end. Soon she would lose any ground she had attained and with that loss, would go all that remained of her youth, her dreams, and her hope. 

Angrily wiping away an errant tear, she righted herself in her seat when she heard footsteps growing nearer. She stood and pretended to ponder a large painting of some ancient ancestor on the wall, willing herself to be calm when she realized it was only Connix carrying a small silver tray in her hand. 

“My lady, a message arrived for you just now from one of the guardsmen.”

“For me? Why not his lordship?” Rey asked, sliding the note off the tray and unfolding it, breaking the guard’s wax seal. She read it, then reread it, her heart beginning to flutter wildly with excitement. 

“I do not know, my lady. I did not recognize the gentleman. He was insistent that the message be brought straight to you.”

Rey read the words written in sharp, clean script on the page:

_ They intend to increase their numbers. We must make haste to thwart this plan. A carriage will arrive at midnight. Tell no one. _

“Ready the proper attire, Connix,” Rey ordered, pocketing the cryptic note. “I believe this evening will bring me out of my gloom quite nicely.”

“Yes, my lady,” Connix replied, turning to begin preparations for Rey’s upcoming mission. Rey looked back up at the smirking man in the painting and winked conspiratorially. 

“Quite nicely, indeed.”

* * *

The carriage was promptly in front of the manor house at midnight, just as the message said it would be. Rey had been waiting, rather impatiently, staring out the window, for it to arrive. She fidgeted with the buttons on her coat and enjoyed the freedom of movement allowed by the comfortable breeches tucked into her boots. 

The first time Rey had worn what she referred to as her uniform, she had caused such a stir with the guard that she had to endure a lengthy lecture on decency and ladylike behavior from Lady D’Acy with her grandfather smirking behind a book. Rey argued that it made no sense for a guardsman to parade around in a corset and stockings while fighting for her very existence, which only led to further arguments about how she should be spending her time preparing to be a viscountess and mother. Rey endured the chastising with a pinched face and then continued to wear what she wanted whenever her commanding officer called her for duty. And so she waited, dressed all in black, hair braided and coiled at the top of her head in a simple, utilitarian fashion. 

She crept out into the velvet darkness, illuminated only by the dull, diffused light of a waning moon, the entire city coated in a fog thick enough to dull the meager sights and sounds present at such a late hour. Quietly, she entered the carriage, surprised to see a man sitting across from her. He wore all black, a mask over his eyes and a cloak with the hood pulled up. Rey could make out whisps of red hair in the darkness and filed that information away for later. 

“Who are you?” she snapped, whipping her pistol out of its hiding place and aiming it squarely at the man’s chest. He only chuckled at her reaction. 

“I am a mere servant, my lady,” he replied, holding up both hands in protest. “You do not need to fear  _ or _ attack me,” he finished wryly. 

“Where are you taking me? And where is the rest of the guard?”

“All in due time, my lady,” the man assured her, turning away and looking out the window of the carriage, watching it jostle along the blackened streets. 

They arrived shortly at the churchyard that Rey was to meet Ben so long ago to make their escape together. Rey had avoided it ever since that fateful night, as it brought her too much pain. Now it brought trepidation as well. She steeled herself as her escort held his hand out to her, offering assistance to depart the carriage. 

Upon exiting, she looked around, scanning for some sign of life, but seeing no one, turned to speak with her companion, only to find he was nowhere to be found. A prickle at the back of her neck told her something was very wrong with this situation. Slowly, she realized that she had probably allowed herself to be trapped due to her boredom and penchant for reckless behavior. Her grave mistake was confirmed at the sight of seven large imposing figures coming in to focus as they moved closer towards her. 

“Stop!” she shouted, hoping against hope that they were humans. When they made no move to stop their progress, Rey crouched into a fighting stance, extending her arms to slide her twin daggers into her palms. “Dammit!”

With an open-mouthed snarl, she advanced on them, knowing they outnumbered her, but determined to take at least one or two down with her. She thrust at one, aiming for the heart, only to be blocked and tossed like a doll to the ground. She leaped back up and swiped at the closest one to her, and screamed in frustration when he only batted her away like an annoying lapdog. 

What was going on? Why weren’t they fighting back? How were they controlling their animalistic nature? Nothing made sense. Perhaps they weren’t vampires at all, and someone had played a cruel joke on her. The anger inside of her bubbled up and over; she swiped frantically, maniacally, no longer caring about finesse or skill, fueled only with disgust at the behavior of these strange warriors. 

“Fight back, you cowards!” she screamed. Her eyes burned with tears of impotent rage. 

“Enough!”

At the order, shouted from a distance, all seven figures dispersed, quicker than anything Rey had seen in her short time as a vampire Hunter. She stood gaping in shock before she noticed him coming toward her. 

The way he moved through the mist like a wraith from a fairy story made a memory tickle the back of her mind, just out of her reach. She stood before him, breathless and disheveled, knives out, ready to fight this creature to the death. 

“Those will not be necessary,” he crooned, waving his hand briefly in her direction. His voice had a low timbre, much like a cello in a quartet, rich, musical, and dangerous. She felt a pull at the sound and inexplicably dropped her daggers and stood to face the faceless creature in front of her. 

“Who are you?”

“I am no one of any consequence. I am only here to warn you against standing in my way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your ridiculous militia will not be able to fend off the army I am amassing and the plans I have made to crush your pathetic guard. You have no idea what power we have. The untapped potential. This is the end of your holding us back. We know your secrets, and we know who is behind them. Again, I only seek to warn you. You have no idea what is to come.”

“Secrets? I don’t understand. Why warn us, then? We are enemies; what purpose does it serve to inform the guard of your plans, whatever they may be?”

“I do not warn them,” he replied. “I warn  _ you _ .”

During this conversation, the masked figure had circled her, like a predator to his prey, only to end up directly behind her. Rey wanted to move, but something was holding her back. If she could only remember what it was that this man—this thing—was awaking in her mind, perhaps it would all make more sense. She felt so tired, lethargic even, at the mercy of this cloaked wicked creature in a mask. 

Suddenly, she felt him close in on her, his breath on her neck cool and fresh mixing with the mist. He had removed his mask, though try as she might, Rey could not turn her head to see his face. There was a rapid increase in her breathing, signaling not only her rising fear but something else unknown. Something dark and deep inside of her. 

“Lady Regina,” he whispered, sending shivers through her body. “You must be careful who you trust. Do you not remember that the devil was once an angel?”

A small sound, like the whimper of a trapped animal, escaped her, and she involuntarily leaned into his embrace. She knew that she shouldn’t feel this way, that she should be consumed by fear or fight back. Yet her breathing stuttered as his hand snaked around her throat, just like—

The dream. 

“I remember,” she murmured. Ben would mention it when they would discuss Milton, how compassion should be shown to Lucifer, even though he was a villain because he was once the favored angel with the potential of redemption, how they all had the potential for redemption. Such a strong faith in goodness he had. He’d be disgusted with her now. 

She froze as the creature breathed its icy breath on her skin. Something wasn’t right. Nothing made sense. Why was this creature making her remember these things?

She was desperately trying to hold on, but thoughts were now swirling on her mind, similar to the mist swirling the mordu’s cloak between her legs. 

“I should never have trusted you,” he murmured, his lips caressing her skin like the wings of a butterfly. Rey moaned wantonly, too wrapped up in whatever spell he had cast on her to acknowledge the shame she should feel. The only rational part of her psyche not bombarded with his wicked magic was confused at his declaration. What trust had she betrayed? What was happening? If anything, she had been too trusting, too foolish, and now here she was, in the arms of the very devil, allowing him to do things she had only dreamed of Ben doing. 

“Ben,” she sobbed, wishing they were his arms, his lips, his young, healthy body surrounding her. She felt his mouth clamp down on her neck and gave in to the faint scrape of his teeth against her flesh as the world faded to blackness.


	7. Pendulum

“What were you thinking, Regina?!” Lord Palpatine bellowed, loud enough to wake the entire estate. Rey placed her hand to her aching head, willing his tirade to abate yet seeing no end in sight. She knew better. When his lordship’s rest was disturbed, he was insufferable. 

“The message said to tell no one,” she groaned, desperately wanting to go to sleep instead of enduring this punishment for the unfortunate situation she had found herself. “Obviously, it was poor judgment.”

“Poor judgment?!” he interrupted. “Poor judgment is choosing not to invite an influential society matron to a luncheon. This behavior was nothing but reckless endangerment! You know better. We never leave the house alone, unguarded, at night, let alone beckoned by some bloodthirsty heathen!”

The way he was shouting at her was above and beyond the usual scolding Rey would receive after breaking a rule. His anger was a bright, white-hot flame threatening to engulf her. Rey needed to tread carefully to placate him lest he enacts a punishment from which she could not wheedle her way out. She shrank back into the settee she had perched on and fixed an apologetic look on her face.

“He didn’t hurt me, grandfather,” she reassured him. “He only spoke to me.”

“Spoke of what?” he snapped, his irritation increased at her interruption of his chastisement, and a flash of worry darkened his features. Rey bit her lip at her indiscretion and shook her head, brushing his question off with indifference. 

“I—I don’t remember,” she lied. “It was all so odd. One moment I was standing, ready to fight, and the next—“ she trailed off, her face flushing a shade to rival the roses in the garden at the thought of what had come after. 

“What happened next?” Poe entreated. He sat next to her, pressed a glass of sherry into her shaky hand, and looked at her with what Rey believed was real concern. She felt a small twinge of guilt at worrying him and her grandfather, but not enough to admit what had come next. That was a secret she would take to her grave. 

“The next thing I remember is waking in here,” she lied again, waving her arm to encompass the study, only dimly lit due to the lateness of the hour. 

“Carried in by a vicar! Like common trash by a man who found you collapsed in the churchyard! You put our family in danger of absolute ruin tonight! This is your final act of rebellion, girl. In light of the situation and your forthcoming nuptials, Regina, you give me no choice but to strip you of your duties.” 

Rey cried out in dismay. Expulsion was precisely the situation she was trying to avoid. She shot up out of her seat, her glass of sherry forgotten as it tumbled onto the carpet. The blood-red stain spread like ink on fresh paper. 

“You cannot do that!” she wailed. “I told you it was a mistake. You cannot take this away from me! I promise nothing like this will happen again.” 

“Regina,” he spoke in a measured voice laced with irritation, “it is time for you to take your leave of these childish games you play.”

“Childish games? I am one of the best—“

“Regardless of your skill,” he continued, holding a hand up to silence her protest, “or your feelings about the issue, your wedding date is nearly upon us. I won’t risk your life so close to—“

“Won’t risk the potential loss of a fruitful financial transaction you mean,” she snapped, all pretense of humility gone at the potential loss of her position. 

There was no sound in the room, save for the intake of breath through Poe’s clenched teeth. Rey lifted her chin in defiance as her grandfather began to speak once more.

“Stand down, Regina,” he ordered. He spoke quietly, evenly, but his change in tone sent a frisson of fear through her body, and experience told Rey to keep her mouth shut while he finished his directive. “The issue is closed. You are to be removed from the guard’s ranks effective immediately and prepare yourself for your wedding. And you will attend tomorrow evening’s masquerade,” he continued, ignoring her further attempt to speak. “Poe has informed me of your...reluctance. I have assured him that you will be in much better humor with suitable rest and perform your tasks respectfully as befits a lady of your rank. And now, I grow weary of this discussion. Go up to bed. Goodnight.”

Rey watched him leave, her mouth open to speak, the words not finding the courage to come. She looked at Poe, who could only shake his head at her and turn away, offering neither comfort nor contempt. She could only guess that he was pleased with the outcome of the evening. Bitterness sat heavy on her tongue, ready to lash out and strike a withering blow to ease her humiliation and disappointment. Instead, her body sagged in defeat, her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob—she had no desire to let Poe see her cry—and she turned and flew up the stairs, slamming the door to her room, exhausted, angry, and hurt. 

Rey shuffled mournfully to her looking glass and stared at herself for a long time, shocked at the image that stared back at her. Her hair tumbled out of its bindings and hung in a loose braid down her back, her eyes wide and bright, their expression bordering on madness, and a blue bruise blossoming on her neck, partially hidden (thankfully) by the high ruffled collar of her shirt. She touched the spot where the stranger's lips had suckled on her flesh like a newborn babe. Hot shame flooded her, not because the mark existed, but because of the ache stirred in her body at the memory of his lips. She reached up and covered the spot with her hand. 

What had she done? What had she allowed that thing to do to her? What kind of a person did it make her, bedraggled and used, looking as if someone had dragged her straight from the streets of Whitechapel?

Perhaps the time _had_ come to put away heroic notions and behave more like a lady. Maybe it was time to let it go. If anyone were to find out—if it had been anyone to see her other than a man of the cloth—It would ruin her. It would tarnish the Palpatine name. As for Poe, he’d be well within his rights to break their engagement and leave her shamed. Any other way to get out of marrying Poe would have her celebrating, but not this. Not endowed with the stigma of her being a woman of loose morals. 

Trudging to her vanity, she sat down, feeling the exhaustion in her bones. She combed her hair, bathed her face, and donned a high necked nightdress, hoping it would hide the devil’s mark from anyone with a keen eye. Climbing into her bed, she reached under her pillow where she could hold on tightly to Ben’s letters. She needn't read them, for she had committed them all to memory long ago. 

Yes. It was time to let her childish notions go, and, as much as it killed her, it was time to finally, finally let _him_ go as well. 

* * *

It had been too easy to pull her guard down, he thought. Too easy to bend her to his will. She should have been more careful, and he cursed her foolishness for putting herself in such a position. He hadn’t expected she would arrive at all, seeing the ruse for what it was, a feeble attempt to get her alone, unguarded, just to satisfy his curiosity. The part of him that was still Benjamin Skywalker-Solo felt guilty for using what Kenobi had taught him to make her submit to him. The larger part of him settling into his new life as Kylo Ren felt nothing but satisfaction at seeing the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty. That reaction he expected. 

What he hadn’t expected was the burning desire he felt at being able to touch her. To place his hands and lips on her as he had never done before. It fueled something frightening inside him; her obvious enjoyment of his attention only spurred him on. A shockwave of need to claim her body, her blood, had almost overcome him, to the point of coming a hair's breadth from sinking his teeth into her creamy white flesh. He could nearly taste the rich blood pumping wildly just under her pale skin, could smell the intoxicating scent that had always been hers now heightened by his transformation. 

With the utterance of one syllable, he had come dangerously close to giving in to her charms. All it took was her sobbing his name, and his weak mind had nearly ruined what he was working to build. 

He remembered himself before he could pierce her vein and lose himself in the heated bliss that he knew would consume him. He no longer identified with the name she spoke. He was now Kylo Ren, the count of Varykino, richer than Croesus and determined to destroy the people who took his life from him. 

He had to admit the years had been kind to her. Extraordinarily so. She had shaken off the childish air and was indeed a woman now. And a fierce one at that. He had to hide his surprise at seeing her dressed in Hunter’s uniform. Black trousers hugged her figure to the point of indecency; her black shirt and coat similarly tailored to her body, while allowing for freedom of movement, also left nothing to the imagination. He wondered absently at her fellow guardsman and how they managed to perform their duties with her dressed in such a way. Her glorious crown of hair braided and coiled around her head only added to her beauty. It had taken him back and made him pause for a moment to appreciate the unique view. 

To top it all off, the sight of her wildly defending herself against his cadre of vampiric knights was thrilling. He could identify the skills that he taught her years before sharpened into those of a well-trained fighter. 

She was magnificent. She had gotten what she always wanted, admittance into the guard as a Hunter. The first woman to do so. The surge of pride he felt at her success was quickly tamped down and replaced by seething fury at the realization that she would never have gotten to that point with him like a millstone around her neck. It was only by betraying him, by giving him over to Poe and doing away with him, that she could attain her selfish goal. It was that fact that fueled his determination to move forward with his plan of destruction he began on that fateful day he and Hux arrived on the island of Varykino. 

* * *

_“You want me to what?” Hux asked incredulously._

_“I want you to find as many mordu as you can. I will be searching as well. We need the newly transformed—those who have not yet devolved into madness. Encourage them to join us. Train them. With their strength, we will stop Palpatine from creating any more of us against their will. Stop his selfish destruction of innocent men left at the mercy of the night, just to line his pockets. I will expose him. Expose them all.”_

_“How do you think I will be able to do this without your abilities?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow in disbelief._

_“You will seek them out while I am establishing myself in Italy. Record who and where they are._

_I will convince them. It will not take much, considering their only other option is to serve as prey, hunted to the death. I will gather up as much gold as I can and go back to England to make contact. I want you also to find a residence for me that will draw attention. Pay an excessive amount. Make my impending presence known. I must gain the attention and trust of the most influential of society. Once I have their confidence and an army of mordu at my side, I will destroy Poe, Palpatine, and Rey. Bring their world crashing down around them. Ruin them.”_

_“And how do you intend to make that happen?”_

_“Through whatever means necessary. Bribery, extortion. You must know, Hux, that through money, all things are possible.”_

_Hux laughed heartily, “I believe the saying is through God all things are possible.”_

_“Show me the difference.”_

* * *

“Hold tight, my lady.”

The rasp of the laces on Rey’s corset was the only thing Rey heard as Connix tugged them as tightly as she could manage. Rey gasped and clung to the post of her bed in a centuries-old dance endured by a long line of Palpatine women. 

“Good heavens,” Rey wheezed when she was able to catch her breath. “Why on earth must women endure such ridiculous torture?”

“I suppose it is the work of the dressmakers, my lady,” said Connix. “They make beautiful garments, and ladies want to be beautiful, so they resign themselves to be—“

“Stuffed in casings like a butcher’s sausage,” Rey finished for her, causing them both to giggle. Rey sat for a moment, dizzy at the inability to fill her lungs. 

Connix retrieved Rey’s costume and held it in front of Rey. 

“His lordship certainly spared no expense, my lady. You will be the loveliest sausage at the ball,” she teased. 

Rey snorted and gasped in discomfort as her stays shifted. 

“My poor body. I feel as though I am about to burst.” She stood and admired the costume presented to her. 

It was quite beautiful, and Rey had to give Poe credit for his taste and attention to detail. He had commissioned a gown that depicted her as a Grecian goddess. White taffeta with golden embroidery threaded throughout draped down the front and pulled to bustle in the back, and an off the shoulder design revealed the swell of her breasts. In contrast, a golden bodice represented the armor of the warrior goddess Athena. Her hair curled and fell in ringlets down her back and over her shoulders, topped by a headpiece that resembled a warrior’s helmet. A white mask was attached to a decorative handle, covered with olive branch greenery, complete with a tiny, carved figure of an owl on top. 

It was the loveliest and most thoughtful gift Poe had ever given her, including his stodgy grandmother’s engagement ring. 

Rey allowed Connix to dress her, not minding so much when there was an extra pull or tug here or there. She was fortunate to have a wide ribbon to wear around her neck to hide the bruise given to her by her attacker and grateful at Connix’s discretion and her habit of not asking questions. 

The finished product that Rey saw in the glass took away what little breath she had left. She felt and looked powerful. After last evening’s fright and the morning’s disappointment, it indeed lifted her spirits. She pulled on her white, elbow-length gloves and accepted the capelet draped over her shoulders, smoothed her gown one last time, and made her way down the stairs where Poe was waiting. 

Coruscant Park had never been a place that attracted Rey’s attention, apart from making her feel discomfort whenever she looked up at its gloomy, dark windows. The sprawling estate seemed to have eyes, watching her comings and goings with infinite curiosity. Her grandfather had recently attempted to procure the property after its previous resident had suddenly disappeared, to no avail. The mysterious count had been just ahead of Lord Palpatine, snatching the estate away from his greedy hands quickly and efficiently. The new owner had breathed life into the old estate, improving the grounds and giving it, if not a pleasant feel, at least a warmer and more welcoming one. 

Rey stepped out of the coach and rolled her eyes as her slippered foot hit the gravel driveway. 

“What a nuisance, driving next door. We could have walked, Poe.”

“It’s nearly a quarter of a mile, Rey.”

“Is it? Well, it isn’t like both of us aren’t young and healthy. It just seems a wasted chore to drag all of this out to go next door.”

“I suppose if it were up to you, we would run across the grounds barefoot and dusted with mud with our clothes disheveled and expect a warm welcome into a social gathering with some of the richest families we know with no qualms at all? Will you never learn what is proper?”

“Will you never stop caring about such things?”

“It is such things that keep us where we are,” he said cryptically. “One false move, and all is lost. Remember that.”

“What?” 

That was all Rey managed to utter before she was guided through the entrance of Coruscant Park and into the ballroom, bright as day with numerous candles blazing, filling the room with a warmth enhanced by the large number of guests parading in their masked finery. 

Marble floors, silver candelabras, and an intricately carved wooden staircase caught her attention upon their arrival. Rey marveled at its beauty. It was indeed more than she had expected—she had prepared herself to step into the gruesome story The Masque of the Red Death, never to return to her home, succumbing to whatever fate awaited them in Prince Prospero’s darkened halls. She smiled wryly at her absurd fantasies, seeing nothing but a room in a house filled with grown men and women alike dressed as monsters and fairies like children at playtime. 

Rey’s eyes swept lazily around the room, taking in the sights and sounds around her. She was prepared, determined even, to be utterly bored in this grand ballroom full of unoriginal nobles and gentry with nothing else to do but climb the social ladder and break their necks trying to impress their host. Then she saw him, and something inside her sprang to life. 

A small shiver tickled Rey’s spine as she surveyed the Count of Varykino. He stood, dressed head to toe in the deepest black; his intricately designed, tasteful clothing gave him a regal and dangerous air. A stunning cloak bedecked with gilded feathers matched those that framed his eyes on the mask of a raven he wore. Thick waves of almost too long, shiny, black hair were swept back off his brow and made him look like a daring rake. He was certainly nothing like these ridiculously vain dandies along the sidelines preening for attention from every direction. Rey’s curiosity was piqued, and she found herself, for the first time all day, looking forward to meeting the mysterious count. She straightened her spine, relaxed her face into what she felt was a pleasant expression, and allowed Poe to lead her through the entry into the receiving line. At their turn with their host, Poe confidently addressed the tall, broad, intimidating man who stood before them. 

“Viscount Dameron, at your service,” he announced with a broad smile and a bow, oozing charm and deference. “It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, your grace. May I present my fiancé, Lady Regina Palpatine.”

“Your grace,” Rey greeted their host with a small curtsy before lifting her chin to meet his eyes. At first contact, time slowed to a halt, the bodies around them frozen in time, leaving only the two of them staring at each other, her with confusion and a sense of recognition, him with something indescribable. Never before had a man looked at her the way Count Kylo Ren of Varykino was looking at her at this moment as if he knew what she looked like without all her layers of finery. She could feel her whole body flush scarlet at the heat she saw in the depths of his golden-brown eyes. They were beautiful.

_So much like—_

She stopped herself, not allowing the thought to take root, only continuing to gaze at him, trying to settle her fluttering heart. A flurry of emotion from the darkest desire to piercing hatred seemed to play out on his face before her, and she shook off the foolish notion, distracted by Poe clearing his throat uncomfortably and the count taking her hand in his.

“My Lady, you could rival the goddesses on Olympus with your beauty.”

Rey’s face went white as a sheet. She gasped, swaying a bit as he bent down to brush his lips over the knuckles of her gloved hand. Her heart nearly stopped beating at the words that pulled at a memory of a similar night long ago.

“What did you say?” she managed to rasp in a hoarse whisper, searching the eyes behind the raven mask. What she saw slipped away like sand on a shore, but she was sure something was there in those eyes that reminded her so much of him. 

“I believe his grace was referring to your costume, darling,” Poe replied. His tone was unmistakably angry. That, coupled with the unfamiliar endearment, made her skin prickle. 

“Quite right, Lord Dameron,” the count agreed, still staring at Rey, hesitating before turning to Poe with a quick snap of his head while still holding Rey’s hand in his. She made a move to ease it away, only to feel his grip tighten as he continued to speak directly to Poe. 

“I wonder if I may steal your bride-to-be,” he began, waiting a moment that lasted just long enough to cause Poe’s cheeks to flush pink. “For a waltz, of course,” Ren finished. 

“Certainly, your grace,” Poe spoke through clenched teeth and gave a curt bow in response to the count's smirk before steering Rey away from the receiving line. 

Something about the way the two men looked at each other during the exchange irritated Rey. Poe’s jealousy was obvious, but she couldn’t understand the amusement from the count. Some type of power play had just occurred before her, and she could not figure why. 

Was she just a piece on a man’s chessboard? This was her future? The way they had talked as if she weren’t even in the room, treating her like a prize at a competition. The way the two had so quickly decided her course of action for the evening bothered her. Not even five minutes into this affair intended to brighten her spirits, and she already felt like nothing but a shiny possession fought over by children in a nursery. 

“Poe, stop for a moment. Let me catch my breath. What was that about?”

Poe whirled around and faced her, eyes flashing with anger.

“The arrogant bastard was ogling you right in front of me, and you were sighing, blushing, and simpering. Enjoying every minute of it, weren’t you?” 

“Are you out of your mind? I can’t breathe in this ridiculous thing,” she hissed, gesturing to her costume. “Any perceived enjoyment is only me desperately trying to breathe and not swoon on the spot. If you are so jealous, then why did you agree to let him dance with me?”

“Jealous?” he scoffed. “Of that cad? Hardly. No, unlike you and the illustrious count, _darling_ , I know how to behave in polite society. There will be no jealous displays from me, no matter how much it would satisfy your vanity. Just remember, when you’re dancing with him, that you’re not the young debutante anymore, and I am the one which you will shortly be marrying.”

Gritting her teeth, Rey tried in a vain attempt to calm her rising temper. “If you’re only going to insult me, Poe, it is but a short walk home.” She huffed and turned in the direction they came before he stopped her. 

“No. Wait. I’m sorry, Rey. Truly. There’s just something about him that I don’t trust.”

“You’ve had the briefest of acquaintances with him, Poe. I don’t see how—“

“I can feel it, Rey,” he insisted. “There’s something in his eyes, in his demeanor, that just seems—strange.”

Rey lifted her mask to hide her face and turned to look at Count Kylo Ren. There was something about him; she agreed with Poe about that. But it was less nefarious and more _familiar_. She watched him speak to the next guest presented to him. He laughed at something that was said, and his hand fluttered up to his hair, his fingers raking it back in a seemingly nervous gesture.

_Oh, Ben, don’t. You’ll go bald if you keep doing that._

Rey stumbled again at the memory, leaning into Poe, her head spinning and her eyes filling with tears. What was happening? Who was this man? And why did he make her heart feel as if it were breaking all over again?

 _It cannot be him,_ she thinks to herself. _It isn’t possible_. 

“Rey, are you unwell?” Poe’s concern finally outweighed his annoyance. He took her hand in his, assessing her appearance. Rey steadied herself and took as deep a breath as she could before smiling at him reassuringly. 

“I’m fine. I could use something to drink, though.”

“I shall get you something. Wait here a moment.”

He set off on his quest for libations, leaving Rey time to study the count from her vantage point across the room.

The height was right. The broad shoulders, dark hair, and the things he said were all too much of a coincidence. As she stood mentally cataloging his features, ticking the boxes that could serve as proof of his identity, he turned slowly and caught her staring at him. 

Immediately she lifted her mask to cover the rising flush of guilt at being caught gawping at the man who had captured her attention. He smirked at her, mocking her dismay, and though she knew she should be insulted, she felt something at that expression that was completely different altogether. She turned away quickly, nearly barreling into Poe as he returned with two glasses of champagne. Rey snatched one and drank it down quickly, ignoring Poe’s wide-eyed scandalized expression. 

“Rey, what has gotten into you?”

Ignoring his question, she took his glass and set them both down on a passing servant’s tray. 

“Let’s dance.”

They danced several dances together, and after a while, Rey had begun to relax a bit. The champagne and the exertion had left her light-headed, and a genuine smile softened her features, dimpling her cheeks. She and Poe had taken a moment to refresh themselves engaged in polite conversation with one of his acquaintances when Rey felt a presence behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know it was _him_. Poe’s body language told her all she needed to know. 

“Viscount Dameron, Lady Palpatine. I do believe we are due for a waltz next. May I?” He held his arm out for Rey. She glanced at Poe, who nodded his polite acceptance. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, trying desperately to maintain control of her excitement as he led her to the dance floor. 

Ren pulled her into his frame and slid his free hand around her torso, resting lightly on her lower back but heavily on her spirit, before he began to move them in three-quarter time along the gleaming dance floor. Without provocation, the thought entered her mind that she would love to feel his hands without gloves. The sensation of his skin touching hers, like the dark creature touching her the night before, or the Ben of her dreams. What would it be like to have _this_ man’s lips graze her skin, to feel his hand reach into her bodice, like that dream she still held on to in the darkest corners of her thoughts. 

An unfamiliar quiver began in her thighs and spread to their apex, leaving a throbbing ache in its wake. She could feel a tingle of something that felt slightly wet and wondered at what it could be. What exactly was happening to her body?

Something in her demeanor must have given away her shameful secrets because Ren leaned ever so close as he waltzed her about and whispered, “Are you well, my lady?”

“Yes,” she answered, too quickly, her voice pitched too high. She needed to calm down and stop fantasizing about things she couldn’t have—her dream Ben, the seductive mordu, this nobleman dancing with her. If any one of them could see inside her mind right now—if Poe or her grandfather could see inside her mind, they would know what a damaged, sinful creature she was. 

Ren pulled her closer to him, almost touching the front of her body, making her body shiver with an unknown need. 

“Something tells me you aren’t entirely truthful, Lady Regina.”

“Well, you will have to simply trust that I am telling the truth, your grace,” she replied, her words carrying a biting sting for all their pretense of light-hearted teasing. 

“Ah,” he laughed softly and without humor. “Alas, I do not bestow my trust as willingly as I used to, my lady.”

“Is that so? Why is that?” At his silence, she continued, wanting to know more about this mercurial man. “Dare I say that I believe it is an affair of the heart that has wounded you so?”

“Indeed, my lady. I trusted her completely, and she betrayed me,” he finished bitterly. “So you’ll excuse me if I guard myself so well. I should never have trusted her.”

_I should never have trusted you._

Rey stiffened in his arms at the words that echoed the mordu who had fooled her the night before. If she was confused before, now she was utterly baffled. How could this man, who so resembled in manner, look, and words her beautiful lost Ben, also compare to the mordu who could have left her so exposed in a churchyard? It was all too much to comprehend. 

“Tell me about your family, your grace.” Rey’s quest to change the subject was an obvious ploy for information, and they both knew it, but it relieved Rey when he gave a close-mouthed smile and acquiesced to her request. 

“I am from Varykino, a small island off the coast of Italy. I am an only child. I lost my mother at a very young age, and my father more recently. For now, it is just me in this grand palace.” He looked around ruefully, and Rey’s heart went out to the sad boy he must have been. She knew what it was like to grow up without a mother. She squeezed his hand in a gesture of comfort. 

“I am sorry for your loss, your grace.”

“As am I. But fear not, my lady. For all is as He wills it.”

“Indeed,” she agreed with a soft smile. As the music ended, so did their dance. And with a nod and a curtsy, Rey took her leave and returned to her fiancé’s side, suddenly exhausted and terribly sad for the man who had lost so much, just as Rey had. 

“Poe, I think I would like to return home now,” she said quietly. He nodded in agreement, and before she knew it, the coach had arrived, their wraps donned, and Rey was back home. 

“I will see you in the morning, Rey,” Poe said as Rey exited the carriage. 

“Goodnight, Poe.”

She entered the house silently, moving stealthily to avoid any unwanted attention from her grandfather. She brushed aside Connix’s offer to help prepare her for bed, assuring she would ring should she need her, and entered her room. She removed her headdress and set it aside with her mask, wrapping herself in a shawl and laying atop her bedding to replay the evening in her mind. 

It wasn’t until much later, when she snapped awake that she realized she had fallen asleep. The last ribbons of a dream of Ben drifted away, leaving behind only words. 

_I should never have trusted you._

_You could rival the goddesses on Olympus with your beauty._

_Fear not, my lady_ [ _._ ](https://www.bustle.com/p/these-last-jedi-posters-reveal-the-dark-sides-role-in-the-upcoming-movie-exclusive-6742856) _For all is as He wills it._

She sat up with a gasp, pulling off her glove to reveal the locket wrapped around her wrist. She had taken to more creative ways of hiding it to keep the promise she had made of never removing it. Her hands shook as she unwrapped the chain, pulling it free and holding the golden locket, emblazoned with the stylized _S_ on its surface. Opening it, she stared in disbelief at the words engraved in the center. 

“Fear nothing. For all is as He wills it.”

A choked sob escaped her throat, and she stifled it with the knuckles of her hand, lest Connix hear and come running. 

“Ben.”

It _was_ him. It had to be him. But how? Why? She flew off her bed and began to undress, intending to change into something more comfortable and suitable for what she had planned. She needed to see him. Excitement, thrilling and white-hot, spread through her veins. She brushed back her tears of joy at finally having her Ben return to her. A moment later, she had another thought that replaced the effervescent joy with blinding anger. 

He was going to answer for all the pain and torment he had caused her these two long years. 

Where had he been all this time, and what in _hell_ was he playing at now?  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Clo, as always. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Revelations

The black, velvet night sky shone brightly with a vast array of glittering stars. Rey noted the difference—so far from the usual foggy sky that it felt as if the heavens were mocking her. As if the past two years, the clear sky she longed for during the day hid under a veil of longing. 

Yet on this evening, the eternal fog of her homeland miraculously lifted, and Rey took it as a sign that the shadow of gloom she had withered under all this time was now at an end. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her body, pulling the hood over her hair, cursing her foolishness at not donning something more substantial against the chill of the night. 

She had only herself to blame; her focus remained solely on reaching Ben, so she had discarded her masquerade finery and put on a nightgown hastily pulled from her wardrobe. She shivered as the chilly night air took no heed of her meager efforts at maintaining body heat, and continued to trudge across the grounds that connected her grandfather’s lands to Coruscant Park. 

Her ankles were icy cold from the wet grasses by the time she had reached the halfway point between the grand houses. The outline of the buildings shone brightly under the radiant moon, and Rey’s blood quickened with a thrill at the sight of his home. Specks of mud dotted her bare legs as she moved faster, breaking into a run to reach Coruscant Park as quickly as possible in the hope that Ben could answer the myriad questions racing through her mind. 

She hurried on despite the cold, or perhaps because of it, her slippered feet sinking into the damp, muddy earth as she ran, soiling her nightdress beyond repair. A brief pang of guilt ran through her, making her feel like a child with a rumpled petticoat bracing herself for a scolding. She laughed at the thought. It brought back to her a memory of a different life, their halcyon days where she and Ben were carefree and had a bright shining future ahead of them. She stopped for a moment, overcome at the feeling of nostalgia. Rey sighed for what the two of them had lost, hesitant to reassure herself that she had found him again. Biting cold air stung her cheeks and burned her lungs, and she resumed her journey, desperate to see him, not knowing what to say or do, only to see that her Ben was really and truly alive. 

Rey slipped into the shadows upon reaching the palatial estate, heaving great lungfuls of air, saying a small prayer of thanks that she was blessedly free of the corset. Surely she would have fainted not a quarter way across the grounds separating their estates had she attempted to run while trussed up like a Christmas goose. 

Body pressed against the cold stone walls, Rey crept alongside the perimeter, searching the shadows for anyone who might try and stop her. She felt inside her cloak for the small pocket sewn into the hem in which she had secreted her chatelaine and pulled out the ornament, careful to keep it from ringing like a church bell and signaling all and sundry to her presence. She only hoped one of her small tools: scissors, a few tiny keys, a vinaigrette of holy water, and a slim pencil and notebook, would assist her in entering Ben’s home without alerting the servants. 

Freezing, caked in mud, Rey was on the verge of frustrated tears when she finally located a window on the first floor that looked like someone had left it ajar. She managed to wedge her fingers inside just enough to pull up the sash, cursing its audible creak. 

“Bloody old house,” she muttered softly. 

She threw off her cloak and shoved it inside the window before she began the process of entering the darkened room, lit only by the faint light of the glowing embers of a dying fire. She sat a moment on the windowsill, halfway between freedom and the unknown. It was not the first time she had balanced on a razor’s edge, and Rey fed off the thrill, much like the mordu fed off the blood of the innocent. The liquid excitement fueled her, drove her on to the next act, more dangerous than the last, only to culminate in this final show of courage. Unlawfully entering the home of what could very well be the man she had promised everything to that bright spring night of her debut. 

Rey let herself slide to the floor as her eyes became accustomed to the low light of what appeared to be a lavishly furnished sitting room. She toed off her slippers, momentarily regretting their ruination from running through the mud and dew, and knelt to place them by the cloak heaped on the cold floor. 

A soft creak behind her caught her attention, and she stood slowly, prepared to release the dagger she had hidden under the long, ruffled sleeve of her nightdress. Just as she reached her full height and made to turn, an arm thrown effortlessly around her neck stopped her, pinning her to a sturdy wall of muscle. 

The Lady Regina’s quick thinking and cat-like reflexes were what set her apart from all the other Hunters. Perhaps it was her diminutive stature or her perceived delicacy. Maybe it was merely the fact that none of her fellow guardsmen believed a woman could outwit them, much less outfight. She assumed that was also her captor’s error. Too many men had underestimated her in such a short time; Rey was unsurprised that this one had as well. 

Lightning fast, she moved, bending at the waist and sitting into a deep squat, spreading her legs as far as allowed in her restrictive clothing. Tucking her chin, she shrugged her shoulders and hooked his arms, heaving with all her might until he was on her back, exclaiming in surprise. Rey turned and threw all her weight into him, dropping the assailant on his back underneath her. She landed on his chest, relishing briefly in the audible puff of air as the impact knocked the wind out of him. 

Rolling off the attacker, she scrambled to her feet, only to be stopped by a hand clamping around her ankle. His aggressive tug sent her falling to her knees with a dull thud. 

“Let me go!” she hissed, rolling over and lashing out with her other foot to deliver a solid kick to an unseen body part, resulting in a satisfying crack. 

“Bloody hell!” came the wheezing curse that followed before Rey felt the grip loosen on her leg, and she got to her feet, crouching into a fighting stance as the man stood as quickly as he could, one arm cradling his side. 

“You cracked a bloody rib, you monster!” he gasped, looking at Rey with such utter shock she would have laughed if the situation had been less dire. She could just make out the long, lean outline of his person, his hair falling over his face as he doubled over, coughing and wincing. His voice lit a spark of memory, and she narrowed her gaze to inspect him more closely. 

It was the hair. Something about the shade of red made Rey remember—something. 

Her eyes widened, and she gripped her fists, her knuckles whitening from the strain. This was the mysterious man in the carriage—the man who had brought her to the mordu. 

“You!” she seethed, unleashing her anger and letting it bubble to the surface. This man, this thing, had put her in danger only the night before and, somehow, now he was here for Ben.

“I’ll do more than break your bones, you fiend!” she shouted before rushing toward him, eyes blazing, sturdy limb flying outward and making contact with a dull thud against his jaw. 

The man stumbled backward before righting himself and defending her next onslaught, one arm flying up to protect his face while the other pushed her so hard she fell directly into the seat of an overstuffed chair. 

“What on earth was that?” Rey snapped breathlessly. She climbed out of the chair with such little grace she stupidly thought how Lady D’Acy would be scandalized at her rolling over the furniture with her bedclothes tangled around her knees. 

“Fight like a man, you fool!” She demanded once she was on her feet again, advancing in him with an animalistic snarl. 

This time, he was ready for her and effortlessly blocked every advance. Rey grew increasingly wild, her frustration reaching new heights as if this man knew every move she was going to make. Every offense was met with a defense Rey knew she would have chosen had their situation been reversed, and she was the villain in this battle. 

Advancing and retreating, they danced around the room, knocking over priceless artifacts and vases and upending side tables until Rey had had enough. With a guttural cry and a whirl, she distracted the enemy, just as Ben had taught her. Jutting her right arm out, sliding her dagger out, and gripping it tightly, she aimed it at her attacker’s chest a split-second before she realized that somehow, this man had done the same. She was now facing down a jeweled dagger aimed directly at her heart. 

Exhausted, sweating like one of her horses after a hard run, her chest heaving under nightgown, hair tumbled all around her in an unruly cascade, she looked at him in bewilderment. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” she gasped.

“Hux!” came a booming voice from somewhere in the shadows. Rey did not need to turn around to know that Count Kylo Ren, or Ben Solo, or whoever this man was, was standing behind her and addressing this man by name. 

“Your Grace?” The devilish ginger responded without breaking eye contact with Rey. He smirked at her, enraging her further. She wished she dared to plunge the dagger straight into his heart, but she had questions that needed answers. 

“That will be all, Hux.”

“Are you certain, Your Grace? I caught this little urchin climbing in the window. Perhaps we should call the constable.” He winked at Rey then, and her jaw dropped at the audacity of this man. 

“How dare you?!” she began before she was interrupted by the count again. His voice was tinged with amusement, which only made her angrier. 

“Armitage. That is enough. Have your injury tended to. I will speak to the girl myself.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Hux replied, deftly returning his own dagger to its hidden spot under his sleeve. He bowed to Rey, wincing slightly as he rose and miming tipping a hat to her in farewell. “Good evening, my lady.”

She watched Hux leave, closing the door behind him with a soft click, before turning slowly to search for the one she had come to see. When she located his shadowed form, she dropped the dagger and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck and breaking into a deluge of tears.   


Rey had cried before for Ben so many times, but nothing like this. The confusion, the desperation, the relief at having him in her arms. It was too much for her exhausted body to hold inside anymore. And so she wept two years’ worth of loneliness, regret, and undying love into the collar of his linen shirt. There were so many things she needed to know, so much hurt that needed mending. But for now, he was here. She would take it for the gift it was and hold on for as long as she could. 

“Ben,” she sobbed, her voice small and sorrowful, the words coming out in short bursts. “I didn’t want. To believe you were dead. They told me. But I couldn’t believe it. Why, Ben? Where have you been? Your poor father.”

His body went rigid, and Rey could feel his hands, which she idly noted had not been wrapped around her in return, sliding up to gently but firmly grip her wrists. To her surprise, he lowered her arms and pushed her away. 

“My lady,” he addressed her, “I am afraid you must be confused. I have no idea who you are speaking of, but I am not the man you believe me to be.”

Rey jerked back reflexively as if he had struck her. She stared at him in shock, a bevy of emotion fighting for dominance over her pretty features. She settled for anger—the easiest for masking her pain. 

“What? Ben. Why? Why are you lying? Why are you doing this?”

“My lady, I do not know what you mean. I only know you are jeopardizing your reputation and your family name by being here—“

“I do not give a damn about my family name or my reputation!” she fired back, Her anger echoing through the room. “I want answers from you! Where have you been, and, and why did you leave me and let me believe you were dead? Ben, I don’t understand. How are you here like this?” she gestured widely to encompass the house and all its finery. 

“Once again, Lady Regina, I am terribly sorry to cause you distress, but I am not this Ben—“

“Stop it! Just stop it!” Rey screamed. She brought her hands up to her ears to block out the words she did not want to hear. She could not believe what he was saying; this man looked and sounded so much like Ben. What was he doing with her? The tears came back harder, this time angry, hot tears; the tears of a frustrated child who could not make the world spin at their will. 

He only watched her, aloof, unmoving as she suffered. 

“I apologize. I do not mean to cause you distress. It is obvious you once cared about this man. I am sorry for your loss.”

Rey drew a great shuddering breath and wiped her sleeve across her face, ignoring the handkerchief he offered to her, and moved to the fireplace, shivering from the cold she hadn’t noticed until now. Her body felt like ice as if the last remnant of living warmth had drained from her. 

“You say care as if you—he,” she corrected herself, pained at the thought of losing him all over again, “were a pet that I spoke fondly of.” She turned and watched him move toward her, then past to stoke the embers of the fire. The flames caught and grew, illuminating her tear-stained face staring up at him with the last vestiges of hope. 

“I care for many things,  _ Your Grace _ , but I loved you then, and God help me, I love you still.”

“My lady. You should go home.”

“You’re really going to stand there and look me in the eye and lie to me? After you promised you would take care of me? After you told me you loved me?”

Rey watched him observe her quietly for a long moment. Long enough for her to think, maybe there was a reason for all the lies and deception. He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, and Rey felt a new sense of determination at his old habit. 

“Are you in trouble, Ben? Is that it? We can go anywhere. We can leave now. I’ll help you,” she whispered these last few words, reaching her hand out to him in hopes he would take it, and this charade would be finished. Instead, he walked to the window, pulled it shut, and picked up her cloak and slippers, bringing them back to her. His face was a study of composure, and he thrust the items at her, not meeting her eyes as he spoke. 

“I will not allow you to ruin yourself indulging a foolish whim, Lady Regina. You need to return to your home. I will have Huxley take you.”

He helped her with her cloak, fastening it around her, his fingers just grazing her throat, making her skin tingle. 

“You should let this go and move on my lady, for your sake. You have to face the fact that Benjamin Skywalker Solo is gone. He is dead, and you will be married to Viscount Dameron, just as you wanted.”

Rey’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and she nodded and lifted her hood with limbs that did not feel like her own. She stared ahead, blankly, taking a last look at the now brighter room, warmed by the fire.

He turned her away by her shoulders and moved her toward the door before she stopped. 

“Wait,” she said, turning on him sharply. Her eyes flashed darkly at him, cheeks flushed as if the heat were just now rushing back into them. She advanced, and he moved back in surprise. 

“What did you just say?”

“I—am not certain. Are you unwell, my lady?”

“You said, Benjamin Skywalker Solo. I never mentioned that name in full.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed as his mouth worked to form the words he could not seem to say. Once again, time stood still in that room, the crackling fire the only sounds to be heard as they stared each other down, her challenging, him, cornered. Finally, he sighed and looked away. A change came over him, and Rey saw the boy she once knew in the strong man before her. 

“What do you want from me, Rey?” He whispered hoarsely. 

Rey felt a wave of dizziness pass over her, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. What she wanted was to be satisfied at the knowledge that she had been right, that it indeed was him standing before her, but all she felt was the dull ache of a broken heart at the idea that he had left of his own volition. That he genuinely didn’t want her. 

“I want to know if I ever meant anything to you. I want to know why you left. I want to know where you have been. I want—I want you,” she stuttered. 

Ben turned his head to look back at her and laughed coldly. 

“Now who is the liar?” he spat. His voice mocked her, its hardness something Rey had never heard before. “You claim to be heartbroken for my loss, and yet here you are, poised to marry the very man who claimed to be my best friend.”

The distance between the two narrowed to nothing as Ben moved closer until Rey had to look up as he glared at her with cold fury. 

“How long did you wait, Rey, before you fell into his arms? Or did you plan it with him behind my back? Does he wait for you even now to bring back a report of how I am faring thanks to the two of you?”

Rey stood speechless, unable to process the accusation leveled at her. Her mouth opened and closed in a feeble attempt to overcome her shock. When his angry words finally sank in, she raised her hand to deliver a slap, wanting to cause him as much pain as he had with his sharp tongue. 

Her efforts were stopped by his own hand, which had moved ever so quickly, stopping her strike in mid air. She tried to pull from his grasp, only to find that he had become distracted by the sleeve of her nightgown, which had slid to her elbow, exposing her arm and the delicate gold locket wrapped around her slender wrist. 

Their eyes met again—this time, his held confusion in addition to the anger. 

“Is this—?” he began. 

“I told you once that I would wear it always. And I have not removed it. This locket, like you, has been a part of me these two years.”

He paused, taking in the admission. His grip loosened minutely, yet he still held her arm in front of him, his fingers touching the chain reverently. His body relaxed, and he returned her gaze with a longing that made her heart ache. 

“Then why?”

Rey knew immediately what he meant. Why Poe? Why agree to marriage at all? She had to make him see that she had no choice. 

“Ben, you know why. If not you, then why not Poe? I never wanted it. Grandfather did. Agreeing to it was the only way I could get him to let me train for the guard. You know that was my dream. Poe was the price I had to pay.”

Ben dropped her wrist in disgust. 

“I see. So you chose to sell yourself to play the valiant mordu Hunter. I must say it’s lovely that you had such an enjoyable pastime with which to spend your long-suffering days.”

“Enjoyable?” she repeated. “You think I have enjoyed my life at all since the day they told me you were gone? The guard only barely served to fill an emptiness that you left behind. Every day without you was torture!” she shouted, aghast that he would accuse her of such horrid things. 

“Every night, I would pray that I would wake and find that losing you was nothing but a terrible nightmare. That you’d be here, alive, waiting for me, just as you said, and we’d ride away and live our quiet life together.” 

She began to cry again, grief and frustration pouring forth in an unending river as she desperately tried to maintain control. It infuriated her that she was reduced to sniveling in front of him, but she could not stop the barrage of emotion. He only watched her while the sobs wracked her body, sapping her energy. After a moment, she was calmer, and when she spoke again, it was quieter but flat and despondent. 

Her eyes unfocused as memories of despair resurfaced in her mind.

“Some nights, I would pray that I wouldn’t wake at all.”

His voice was husky with emotion, betraying his surprise and sorrow at her words. He reached for her. “Rey, don’t—“

She tried to turn away from him, but he grabbed her hand, drawing her closer. She hung her head; all the fight went out of her. She was bone tired and wanted to stop speaking, but something inside her made her continue in the hopes that somehow he’d understand. 

“Because the world lost something for me without you in it, so if death was the only way to have you, then why should I fight it?” Her eyes flashed with an angry fire as she returned to the present. 

“So don’t you dare, for one moment, think that this has been easy for me. I would have given it all up, would still give it all up, if I could have you for one more moment.” She held her hands open in front of her, offering her soul as she bared it to him. “I have nothing else left to give. Everything I ever loved was gone. It was either marry Poe or throw myself into the sea.”

Rey covered her face and stumbled, spent, not caring if she fainted dead away. She felt him catch her, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to sit by the fire. He held her while she shivered and cried quiet tears in fits and starts, rocking her like one would a child, feeling a newfound hope at her words. 

“Shh. Don’t cry anymore, Rey.”

“Ben,” she murmured into his now soaked shirtfront, clinging to him like a frightened animal. “Please tell me it’s really you. Please. I could not bear to lose you again. Please. Tell me you have returned to me, and you still love me as I have always loved you.”

* * *

He was a fool. Ben knew deep in his heart, what was left of it, that Rey had always been faithful to him. That she would never have tried to trick him or cause him harm. He should have spoken to her as soon as he returned to England, but he had let rage guide his actions and had only succeeded in hurting her and keeping them apart. 

He looked down into her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, her cheeks were wet and flushed pink, and still, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He would spend the rest of her life making amends for his cruelty, doing anything in his power to be worthy of the love she so freely gave to him. He found he wanted to cry as well for all the time they had lost. The unfairness of it all was overwhelming. But, he could also weep with joy for the gift they had been given. Ben was determined not to turn it away any longer. Obi-Wan had been right all along.

“Rey. My darling Regina,” he whispered. “I do love you. And I am yours, as I always have been.”

His words awakened her from a long nightmare. Ben could see the change come over her as if he had brought her back to life. “Ben!” she breathed, a radiant smile breaking like the dawn across her face. She placed her hands on either side of his face and hesitantly moved forward, her eyes darting to his lips. 

* * *

Rey had longed for this man since she was a girl, had dreamed of holding him, and feeling his lips on hers. She had to remind herself this was real as she pressed her lips to his in their first kiss. All thought of reputations and family names long gone, Rey gave in to the sensation of the gentle pressure as his mouth moved over hers. The newness of it all, the excitement, the culmination of an eternity of longing came to life in a rush of desire so intense, Rey clutched at Ben’s arms to keep from being swept away. 

An involuntary groan broke free from her throat as her hands tightened around the firm, flexed muscles of his biceps. Ben angled his head slightly and pressed further into her, deepening the kiss by urging her mouth to open. Her body began to feel too hot, too tight, and she felt lightheaded as his tongue entered her mouth, seeking, tasting, exploring her in an intimacy she had never known existed. 

Is this what kissing was like? Rey marveled at it and devoured Ben, in turn, her own hesitant tongue exploring his soft, wet mouth. It was probably a mercy they had never experienced this together before. Rey surely would have ached for Ben all the more had she known her body could come alive with only a kiss. 

He dragged his lips from hers, moving in a heated path across her jawline. Rey gasped a surprised, “Oh!” as his mouth began to press searing kisses down the column of her throat. His tongue dipped out to lick her skin, tasting its saltiness from her sweat and tears, driving him to the brink of madness. His hand moved swiftly up to the neckline of her gown and roughly tugged it aside to expose her collarbones and a bare, freckled shoulder. Ben growled at the sight, peppering a trail of kisses to her flesh that caused Rey to make soft whimpering noises. 

Her head fell back, exposing herself further as an intoxicating warmth flooded her veins. A strange, languid calm washed over her, and she began to drift into a dream of a dark man pressing his lips against her neck, nipping, gently sucking, preparing to—

—bite.

“Ben! Ben, what are you doing? Ben, stop!”

Pressing both palms to his chest, she shoved with all the strength she could muster until she had managed to push him back far enough to see his face. Wild thoughts dashed through her mind, coalescing into a sharp realization. 

Pupils enlarged until nothing but blackness reflected in the eyes that stared back at her. 

Sharp teeth protruding just over his plump lower lip, mouth open, ready to take what was offered. 

The man in the churchyard. 

The mark on her neck. 

The secrets and lies.   


Two years gone. 

Ben.

The mordu.

Rey opened her mouth wide and screamed. 

**Author's Note:**

> The inscription on the locket Ben gives to Rey is adapted from the Guardian's Mantra below. You may recognize it from Rogue One as the mantra Chirrut Îmwe, Guardian of the Whills recites throughout. 
> 
> "The Force is with me,  
> And I am one with the Force;  
> And I fear nothing,  
> Because all is as the Force wills it."  
> THE GUARDIAN'S MANTRA, FROM COLLECTED POEMS, PRAYERS, AND MEDITATIONS ON THE FORCE


End file.
